


for the half of ourselves we have lost

by andibeth82



Series: and when we're there we'll belong [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, F/F, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), The Family that Fights Together Stays Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 179,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha says, "No matter what happens, this family will always be the one thing we have. We’ve all put each other through too much shit to let anything come between us.”</p><p>Clint says, “You know what it means to owe a debt, Nat.”</p><p>[a family picking up the pieces, before and after the war]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel of sorts to **[i love only that which they defend](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4767218)** / **[til the clocks run down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4844699)**. This story picks up after Age of Ultron and during the start of Civil War, and it fits into the canon established in this series, but it can be read on its own. While I would love if you read the previous fics in this series, I fully understand how that could be daunting. [note: while the timeline of this story/series follows general MCU time, because of this story's progression, the start of Civil War comes only a few months after the events of AoU which means Nathaniel is still less than a year old.]
> 
> While the previous stories were about a family learning how to come together, this is a story about a family learning how to stay together. It's a story about how making decisions is sometimes hard, but also necessary. It's about the toll those decisions can take on the people you love. It's about trust and love and forgiveness. It's about fighting for people you care about, even if they're not yours by flesh and blood -- because say what you will, but it was Wanda that Clint went back into the fight for. It's about how even when things seem like they're settled, there's always obstacles that will be hard to deal with, because love is never something you stop fighting for. In that respect, this is long, and this is involved.
> 
> Thank you to beautyofsorrow for title help which eluded me until the very end, to sweetwatersong for helping me hash out my writer's block, and to gecko for being my supportive right hand.
> 
>    
>  _“Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.”_
> 
> _“Love is a battle," said Marie-Claude, still smiling. "And I plan to go on fighting. To the end."_
> 
> _― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being_  
> 

Clint’s just finished putting Nathaniel back down in his crib, ears tingling with the relief of rarely-heard quiet, when he hears the soft click of the front door and then the thrum of footsteps padding against creaking floorboards below him.

“Right on time,” he mutters under his breath, casting another glance at his son who is now sleeping soundly, stretched out on his back in Cooper’s old arrow onesie. He moves out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him, making his way down the stairs equally softly in the slim hope of not disturbing Laura’s slumber, and catches the flash of red slipping through the entryway as he gets to the bottom of the stairs.

“You gotta stop this,” he says when he reaches the living room. Natasha’s just finished taking off her shoes and when she turns around, he notices the heavy bags underneath her eyes, illuminated by the moonlight shining through the big bay windows.

“Who are you, the married police?” Natasha asks mildly, but her voice is hoarse and riddled with both exhaustion and disuse. She walks straight to the couch after taking off her jacket and curls up on the pillow; Clint opens his mouth to warn her about that particular spot of rest being _also_ the spot of Nate's most recent spit-up, but Natasha’s face alerts him to the fact that he doesn’t need to say the words.

“Sorry,” he apologizes with a wince as she scrunches up her nose in an imitation of his daughter, rubbing her cheek. “We think he had some bad baby food or something else that didn’t agree with him. It’s partially why he’s been up all night.”

“But not why _you’ve_ been up all night,” Natasha surmises, managing to somehow give him a pointed look despite her clear tiredness. Clint shakes his head slowly.

“I was worried about you,” he admits and Natasha rolls her eyes.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop worrying about me? This is no different than when I would leave for missions and come home while you and Laura were living here.”

“Yeah, well.” Clint feels the frown lines multiply along the sides of his mouth. “I dunno. Maybe it is different. Maybe I _am_ the married police after all.”

“The joys of coming home,” Natasha mutters. Clint moves to ask if she wants coffee but she’s already repositioned herself on the couch, shifting to the other side and stretching out with her head pillowed against one of the extra blankets that’s been left out on the armrest. He listens for a moment to make sure Nate is still sleeping (because while the six-month-old was doing better with uninterrupted slumber, teething wasn't helping matters) and then walks over, sitting down next to her legs and pushing hair back from where it’s falling into her mouth. Clint doesn’t miss the way her body sags against the furniture, a welcome reprieve that he recognizes from his own need of being able to just _relax_ somewhere that you were comfortable -- somewhere that you considered home.

“I’m serious, Nat. Just take a break or something. You’re exhausted, and you’re running yourself ragged.”

Natasha moves enough so that she can take her ring out of where she’s stored it in her jeans pocket, and twists it back onto her finger. “I can’t,” she says softly, her voice tinged with more than just resignation. “I promised I’d be there for us…for you.”

“And even _I_ stayed at work when I knew it was impossible to make sudden trips home,” he reminds her gently, kissing the curve of her ear. “It sucked, especially when Cooper and Lila were babies, but Laura understood.”

“But I _need_ to be here,” Natasha protests, her voice a feeble whine against the thick pillow. Clint allows a smile to inch onto his face.

“You _are_ here.” He kisses her again, this time letting his lips rest on her temple. “You’ve _been_ here. We gave each other our vows, remember? Laura and I trust you. We know you’re not going to get up and walk away from this family.”

“And you also know that I can’t just _not_ show up and not do my job, especially with you staying at home,” Natasha responds with a heavy sigh. “Besides, Rogers already thinks we’re fucking. Might as well continue to perpetuate the lie that’s actually a truth.”

“I’m pretty sure by now the whole damn _team_ thinks we’re fucking,” Clint mutters and Natasha grins tiredly.

“Probably. But they still don’t know _everything_.” She wiggles her fingers, letting the silver band catch in the moonlight and Clint feels himself soften thinking of Laura upstairs in their bed, sleeping the way he had left her. With her hands folded underneath her pillow and dark hair spilling across her forehead, she projected the very image of contentment and relaxation, things that Clint had seen more and more frequently since their vow renewal and wedding day -- since Natasha had come home for good and then stayed.

“Either way, forty flights here and back to New York every other day can’t good for you,” he says, taking her outstretched fingers and letting her pull him down onto the couch more fully. “You feed me that crap about my age all the time but you’re not Lila’s age, either. Also, you’re going to give Laura a heart attack when she sees how rundown you are.”

“Well, I _am_ racking up a lot of frequent flyer miles,” Natasha admits with a small yawn. “No thanks to Stark’s inability to let me pilot a private jet. Maybe we can finally take Lila to Disney World.”

“You gonna be the one to ride _It’s A Small World After All_ over and over again with her and Nate?” Clint asks grouchily. “Because lemme tell you, you’ll _really_ want to shoot someone after you get off that boat.”

“Actually, I’m looking forward to when we have to wait three hours for the new _Frozen_ ride at Epcot together and you abandon me to go drink,” Natasha says with a smirk, brushing her fingers across his arm. “Come here.”

“I can’t.” Clint sits forward before he can let himself get too comfortable. “I gotta stay up in case he wakes again. And Laura’s gotta bring Coop to an early practice, so I said I’d let her sleep.”

Natasha inclines her head against the couch and squints in the dark, nodding. “Want company?”

Clint smiles and holds out a hand, unable to stop the flutter in his heart when the cold weight of Natasha’s ring brushes against his skin. She didn’t wear it when she went away and spent time in New York and Laura had understood that decision, because it was one that followed years of Clint doing the same thing. Unlike Clint, however, who liked to keep his ring in a hidden pouch, Natasha had elected to keep hers in the pocket of whatever clothing she was wearing on the job or in the same hidden space in her tac suit where she had stored her arrow necklace when it wasn’t being worn.

“Maybe we should get you a chain,” Clint had suggested the first time he saw Natasha fish the ring out of her jeans pocket after walking through the door. “Might be easier than taking it on and off all the time. And easier to hide.”

“And easier for everyone to wonder why I stopped wearing an arrow necklace and started wearing a ring instead?” Natasha had asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. “No thank you. Besides, I like being able to know it’s there. I like having it close to my body in a way that no one else can see. Now that the farm is...well. Now that people know.”

Clint hadn’t argued with her further on that; although she had been the one who had made the choice to reveal their home to their team in the first place, he also knows ever since disclosing what was a safehouse in more ways than one, she’s continued to mourn, however quietly, the loss of something much more personal.

He climbs the steps slowly and quietly with Natasha on his heel, walking back into the room holding Nathaniel’s crib -- the guest bedroom that had been turned into Natasha’s room that was back to being a guest bedroom, now that she was sleeping with Clint and Laura regularly and now that Cooper was aware of the intricacies of their relationship.

“One day, I’m going to get over the irony of you giving my namesake my old bedroom,” Natasha says as they walk inside, closing the door. She crawls onto the big bed and curls into the pillow as Clint walks to the crib, leaning over to check on the sleeping baby before cracking open the window across the room, letting in pre-dawn air that smells faintly of pinewood and smoke from the neighbors’ lingering fire.

“One day,” he agrees, getting into bed. Natasha’s arm immediately circles around his waist, pulling him close, and he closes his eyes against the scent of travel-worn sweat and stale airport coffee, breathing deeply as he curls closer to her body.

“What?”

Clint opens his eyes and smiles, unaware he’s apparently given off a specific expression. “Nothing,” he says, bending over and kissing her on the lips. Admittedly, the month since their vow renewals and proposals at the lake house now felt like ages ago, as the only thing that had changed since then was the fact that Natasha now barely left their side except to return to New York to help with training. But there had also been so many years of heartache and uncertainty between all three of them before getting to this steady place, and even though nothing about their relationship is technically _new_ , Clint thinks it’ll take a long time for him to _not_ feel like everything about what they had created together was awe-inspiring and shiny.

“Not nothing,” Natasha says, poking him with her toe. “ _Something_. You’ve got that look, the one Cooper gives me when he’s looking at a new train set and knows we can’t buy it.”

Clint laughs a little. “I guess I’m just happy you’re here,” he says quietly. “ _Really_ here.” He thinks of Laura in the next room and feels guilty she’s missing out on cuddling time, before he reminds himself he doesn’t need to. They had all the time in the world for stolen moments where the kids weren’t completely present, and Natasha didn’t have to run off anymore. Not now.

“I think the team does suspect something,” Natasha admits after a long moment, putting a hand on his chest. Clint snorts quietly.

“Which is different than how many years ago? We haven’t exactly been subtle, Nat.”

“No,” Natasha agrees. “We haven’t. But now that I’m living here officially and going back and forth all the time, Steve keeps asking what’s so important that I have to keep leaving.”

“We could _really_ fuck with them next time I come visit,” Clint says, the corners of his mouth turning up. “You know, casually drop that Laura and I had a lot of sex during my break and then make sure someone finds us kissing in the bathroom.”

“And here I thought I was going to get all my middle-school romance ideas from Cooper,” Natasha says with a groan, but she’s smiling back. A tremor runs through her bones, one Clint thinks might be half from exhaustion and half from chill thanks to the open window.

“Sleep,” Clint says when he notices how she’s fighting to keep her eyes open. “He’ll be up soon enough. So will she.” He inclines his head towards the door, in the direction of Lila and Cooper’s room.

“Mmm. My favorite alarm clock,” Natasha mumbles into the pillow and for a moment, Clint’s not sure whether she means his wife or his daughter. He watches Natasha’s eyes fall closed and continues to stroke her hair, knowing Natasha would never actually ask for the extra comfort but also knowing she does want it. He puts a hand over her own, fingers ghosting over her ring, relishing in the sound of Natasha’s exhales and his son’s soft breathing, the knowledge of Laura sleeping next door, Cooper and Lila across the hall in their beds and the weight of Natasha’s body next to his: sounds and feelings that mingle with the creaking walls of a broken-in farmhouse built and maintained with love, a place that sings songs of belonging in tandem with the early morning breeze.

 

***

 

“What time did Natasha get in?” Laura asks when she returns from taking Cooper to soccer practice, carrying a large iced coffee from 7-11 and kissing Clint on the cheek. Clint gratefully takes the plastic cup from her hands and sucks greedily on the straw, knowing from the way Laura’s looking at him that he’s probably channeling his son’s obsession with his pacifier.

“Sometime after four. I think.” He nods towards the couch and pushes a plate of leftover blueberry waffles across the table. “I yelled at her and told her to stop traveling like this, but she won’t listen.”

“No, she won’t,” Laura muses, fingers absently twirling her ring and Clint doesn’t have to ask what she’s thinking about. He glances down and sighs, moving food onto his plate.

“She doesn’t have to play martyr and try to kill herself coming home, you know.” He shoves a large bite of waffle in his mouth. “It’s like she still thinks we don’t trust her.”

Laura smiles sadly as she pours a fresh cup of coffee from the carafe, leaning over to open the large windows over the sink. “I don’t think it’s that,” she says softly, sitting down next to him. “I think she’s just trying to prove herself a little bit.”

“What the hell does she have to prove?” Clint asks grumpily, slouching in his chair. Laura wraps two hands tightly around her mug.

“Nothing. And I think she knows that, somewhere inside that head of hers.” She pauses. “I do wish she wouldn’t run around like this, though, because it worries me, too. I’m just glad she’s making the effort.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees, reaching for his coffee again, swallowing down both cold caffeine and also the lump in his throat, because for so many years _effort_ on Natasha’s end had been hard to come by, no matter how much they knew she loved them. He shifts in his chair as heavy footsteps pound down the stairs and then into the kitchen.

“ _Daddy_.” Lila appears in front of her father looking put out, hair tangled from sleep and bleeding into the fleece of her worn _Arthur_ pajamas. “Tasha said I can’t have ice cream for breakfast.”

“This again?” Clint reaches over and picks up Lila, placing her on his lap and rubbing her back. “No, you can’t have ice cream for breakfast, Lila baby. We’ve been over this. Ice cream is for special treats, right? And dessert. You know that.”

“But that’s not fair! Coop got to have ice cream last week for breakfast and you wouldn’t let me have any!”

“Your brother had his tonsils removed, therefore, he earned the right to eat ice cream,” Laura interrupts with an eyebrow raise. Lila slumps down in her father’s arms, shoving her lips into a pout.

“What’s the rule about asking Natasha for things?” Laura asks as she pours syrup onto her waffle from the bear-shaped bottle her parents had brought back from a recent trip to Vermont. She regards her daughter with a serious stare and Lila heaves out a petulant sigh.

“Mommy’s rules mean Tasha’s rule, too, because Tasha’s also mommy.”

“Yes,” Laura says with a nod. “And Natasha is not going to let you have ice cream, because mommy and daddy aren’t going to let you have ice cream, because that’s not how this family works. We know that, right?”

Lila scrunches up her nose but nods again, sliding off Clint and staring up at the table with a grimace.

“Can I have a waffle?” Lila asks after a moment, as if trying to figure out what request she can substitute that might earn her a positive answer. Clint smiles, picking one off the plate.

“Waffles are breakfast food, so, yes. You can have a waffle,” he allows, picking up another and wrapping it in a spare napkin. “Bring one up to Nat, if you want.”

Lila grins and then takes the two waffles carefully, running back upstairs. Laura leans forward and shoves her hands against her forehead.

“Some days, I think it would be easier to just tell her.”

“That, what? Nat’s her second mommy and we’re all sleeping together?” He sucks down more coffee. “She kind of already knows that.”

“She doesn’t fully know it,” Laura reminds him. “It’s just now that Natasha is living here, we’re basically easing her into this by allowing her to realize Natasha is her mom the same way I am.”

“And hoping that she doesn’t say anything at school because she’s accepting of that based on how she grew up?” Clint asks. “She’s _still_ getting it more than Coop ever did.”

Laura kicks him under the table and he winces at both the pain and the acknowledgment of knowing that it’s not really a fair argument to start. Despite the years it took for their relationship to settle, Natasha had been with Lila and had been a part of her life since the first day she was born. As much as Natasha had been around for Cooper’s early years, and as much as Cooper always thought of Natasha as a mother, there was a distinct difference. Lila had never _not_ known a point when “Auntie Nat” wasn’t around.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” Laura asks as she stretches her arms over her head, yawning slightly.

“Mmmm.” Clint leans over and hits a button on his phone, squinting. “Lila has swim lessons at nine. Nate’s playgroup is today, if you wanna bring him over. I have an appointment with the chiropractor -- oh, don’t look at me like that -- at noon. Then I’ll take Lila to Aubrey’s birthday party --”

“Good lord, _another_ birthday party?” Natasha enters the kitchen with an eyebrow raise and a smirk, holding Nathaniel in two arms. “No wonder it took you so long to quit avenging for a paycheck.”

“Very funny,” Clint grumbles, shooting her a glare, though he can’t help but smile when he sees his son’s face and wide eyes. “And it’s not my fault that five-year-olds have a lot of birthdays. Just for that, I’m gonna make _you_ take Nate to his playgroup this morning.”

Natasha shrugs, kissing the baby on the head. “There are worse things than singing songs all day while other mothers try to talk to me and I pretend to be domesticated,” she says. Laura gets up from the table, pushing back her chair.

“I think after spending so many years with us, you don’t _have_ to pretend to be domesticated anymore,” she says, meeting Natasha in the center of the kitchen, leaning over to kiss her languidly.

“Well, that remains to be seen.” Natasha kisses Laura back with a small grin, pulling at her bottom lip. “I _still_ can’t do the mom voice as well as you can. Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning to you too. Jetsetter,” Laura adds pointedly, licking her lips in the wake of Natasha’s kiss. Natasha sighs.

“You, too?”

“We harass you because we care about you,” Clint interjects with a smirk. “And don’t forget that we’ve both spent years making Laura worry about us, because we’ve been too tired or too beat up to function.”

“ _You_ especially,” Laura says, nodding in Clint’s direction as she takes Nathaniel from Natasha’s arms, trading the baby for coffee in a hand painted flower mug and letting her eyes sweep over the ring that’s snugly attached to her finger.

“You like when I wear it,” Natasha says when Laura’s eyes linger a little too long and Clint swears he sees the lines on Laura’s mouth grow thinner.

“Of course I do,” she says quietly, settling Nate in his high chair along with a handful of cheerios, which she spreads onto the tray. Clint wonders if Natasha’s thinking about the fact that it wasn’t _that_ long ago she sat at the table and threw what was now one of her most prized possessions into the trash.

“Well, I like when I wear it, too,” Natasha says, sitting down and taking a waffle. “It reminds me that I love you.”

“If you need more reminders, there are many places to get naked in this house,” Clint says, leaning back in his chair and grabbing his reading glasses as he opens the paper. Natasha snorts out a laugh.

“Unlike you, I don’t measure my life in sex. As much as I’m enjoying our new toys.” She flinches as a cheerio lands in her hair, and when she looks up, Nate is grinning at her and giggling cheekily, one tooth barely visible underneath his upper lip.

“I can’t believe he has that.”

“What?” Clint looks up. “The tooth?”

“No.” Natasha shakes her head. “The shit-eating Barton grin. You’re doomed.” She leans over to reach Nate's high chair, helping him re-adjust himself. “And _you_ are named after me and good aim or not, I am _not_ going to let you throw food at my hair.”

“Can you use that line later when he spits up again?” Clint asks helpfully, still looking down at the paper. Natasha kicks him under the table, light enough so that he manages to jump unexpectedly.

“Eat your breakfast,” she advises as Laura laughs, the sound carrying over from where she’s washing glasses in the sink.

 

***

 

Laura finds Clint outside, sitting cross legged on the grass with Nate situated next to him in his Pack n’ Play, the baby amused enough by the multitude of toys in his vicinity that he’s not currently causing a fuss. She smiles to herself as she walks up behind him and bends down, placing two hands along his broad shoulders which are flush with both sunburn and scars. He’s concentrated on his work, sanding down a long piece of wood, what Laura recognizes is the start of a beam for a tree house. She softens even more remembering the long list of items tacked to the bulletin board on the wall of the big walk-in closet, the home improvements and requests he’s been steadily working through since more or less walking away from the Avengers.

“Have I told you yet that retirement suits you?”

“Today?” Clint inclines his head upwards so that he can kiss her. “No, but I like hearing it.”

The lines around Laura’s mouth fold into the barest of wrinkles as she sits next to him, half-lying on the grass. Cooper is sitting on the porch, re-stringing one of Clint’s old bows, and Laura doesn’t miss the quick glances Clint sends his way every so often, the ones that seem to be rooted in more than just parental concern that his son won’t injure himself by accident.

“You miss it.”

“I go to the range with Tasha three times a week,” Clint defends almost instantly, not looking at her. “And we shoot in the woods.”

Laura sighs. “I know you do.” She smoothes down his hair. “But I also _know_ you, and I know it’s not the same.”

Clint slows his movements and then puts the wood down, leaning back on his elbows as Laura lies down fully, placing her head on his stomach. “It’s not,” he admits slowly. “But I want to be here, and I can’t spend my whole life wishing I was back in the fight. Hell, there’s not even any fight to go back to.”

“Nat’s been pretty busy,” Laura reminds him and Clint grunts.

“Nat’s been _training_. Small recon missions, trust building, helping Wanda acclimate to her powers...if I was back there with her, I’d probably be bored, too.”

“You think she’s bored?” Laura asks with a hint of amusement and Clint’s stomach rises and falls against her head while she waits for him to respond.

“I think she misses the fight,” he says carefully. “But she’d never leave. Not now.”

Laura closes her eyes, letting a wave of cool afternoon air climb over her skin. “If I can get my mom to take the kids later, I think we should all go out.”

Clint sits up at that, squinting against the sunlight. “Go out?”

“Yes,” Laura says patiently. “Go out. You know, go to a bar, get drinks. It’s what normal couples do when they want to get away from their children.”

Clint laughs, a deep throaty growl as he collapses back to the ground. “We were never _normal_ , Laur.”

“Maybe we once were,” Laura asserts and Clint catches her eye as he sits up again.

“If you can pull her away from those reports, you know I’ll never turn down alcohol.”

“Consider it done,” Laura responds, leaning over to kiss him. Clint wraps his arms around her neck and pulls her back down on top of him until Laura’s practically buried in his shoulder, laughing quietly while continuing to kiss the back of her neck.

“ _You_ are a distraction,” she decides as she finally gets up, wiping grass and dirt from her jeans. Clint shrugs, following her lead.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Laura nudges him with her foot as he goes back to work and then walks back to the house, pausing when she gets up the porch steps.

“Hey, kiddo.” She drops to her knees, brushing a hand over Cooper’s dark hair. He flinches a little but doesn’t shy away and Laura considers it a win, given that Cooper’s less than six months away from hitting verified teenage status.

“How’s dad doing with the treehouse?”

“It’s getting there,” Laura says with a small smile. “How’s the bow coming?”

“Pretty good.” Cooper removes his hands from the clicker and flexes his fingers with a deftness Laura recognizes from watching her husband handle his own bow so many times. The bow that Cooper is working on is one of Clint's older compounds, an allowance Clint had gifted his son upon starting middle school, despite Laura's protests. (Natasha had remained silent throughout the argument, pointing out the fact that she owned knives at ten years old made her incapable of weighing in on this particular adult matter with a logical opinion.)

“Dad said if I can get it strung properly, he’ll help me shoot in the barn.”

“Oh, really?” Laura raises an eyebrow. “And did dad ask mom about that?”

Cooper looks both embarrassed and guilty at the same time, what Laura can tell is her son trying to think fast enough in order to lie and get himself out of the conversation he’s walked himself into. She’s often ribbed that Cooper had inherited most of Clint’s less than helpful traits, but his inherent smarts combined with being around two people who worked for a good portion of their lives as professional spies meant that he had also picked up some of his own tricks, inherited or not.

“Erm. He said that he did.”

Laura hides a smile. “I thought so. See if you can fix that bow first, and _then_ we’ll talk about learning how to shoot a real weapon.” She kisses him on the head before walking inside the house and takes off her shoes at the door. After entering the kitchen, she finds herself greeted with the smell of tomato soup simmering on the stove, the sight of half a loaf of Italian bread lying sideways on the cutting board and Natasha sitting at the table, hunched over a few papers with a mug of coffee near her elbow.

“Anyone ever tell you that you work too much?” Laura eyes the stove and walks over, turning down the heat as the red liquid bubbles a little too intensely and a little too close to the rim of the pot.

“Not to my face,” Natasha says, looking up as Laura moves the bread away. “Why, did you hear something?”

“Just didn’t want the house to burn down while you were busy trying to save the world,” she responds before sitting down at the table. Laura hides a smile when she realizes the edges of a report titled RECONNAISSANCE: ABIDJAN are stained with dried ketchup and a hint of glitter from Lila’s most recent art project.

“You need a break,” she decides after a moment when Natasha doesn’t continue the conversation. “I’m calling my mom and she’s going to come over later and watch the kids while we go out for drinks. It’s time we reclaimed some normalcy in this house.”

Natasha eyes her. “I wasn’t aware normalcy included getting drunk in a bar.”

“No,” Laura says. “Normalcy in this house has become constant trips to the East Coast and guns hidden in the attic.” She tries and fails to keep the bitterness out of her voice and Natasha sits back in her chair, giving her a sad smile.

“I know you both think it would be easier if I just stayed there,” she says quietly. “But I _want_ to come home. Now that I can. Now that I’m able to.”

Laura nods. “I know,” she says softly, the pain easing out of her the more she looks at Natasha, seeing the genuine desperation in her gaze. “And I love that. Believe me, I do. I just wish it wasn’t so hard on you.” She brushes the back of her palm against Natasha’s cheek, just below the fading bags underneath her eyes, her wedding ring leaving a small indent against her skin.

“One day,” Natasha murmurs with a sigh as she leans into Laura’s palm. “One day, I’ll stop running in some way and we can just...be. The way you want. I promise.”

“Natasha.” Laura smiles, shaking her head. “ _This_ is the only way I want. Even if it’s a little hard right now. As long as you continue to come home, I’ll be happy. Don’t ever forget that.” She kisses her and then gets up, squeezing her shoulder before returning to the counter to finish making the lunch Natasha had started before becoming distracted. Some hours later, when Lila has returned from her friend’s house and Cooper has been fed and Nathaniel has been soothed and put to sleep, Elizabeth Foster shows up on the front doorstep. She pries Lila out of Laura’s arms, kisses Natasha and Clint, and gently urges them out the door underneath the warm glow of the porch light and encroaching dusk of the waning day.

“I’m going to regret this,” Natasha says after they’ve gotten into the minivan and Laura’s driven them to the bar Clint used to both frequent and work at before SHIELD. “Isn’t there some law about conflict of interest that applies here?”

Laura snorts. “You have definitely been spending too much time away from home,” she says, swiping at Natasha’s curly hair that's grown past her shoulders, walking ahead of both Clint and Natasha to push open the door. It’s nostalgic, still, to walk inside and see the low ceiling filled with Iowa State pendants and framed photos of local sports stars, the bottles of hard liquor filling out the counter behind the bar and the damp, musty atmosphere that signals the impending end of a lingering summer. There have been distinct changes over the past fifteen years, since Laura had first set foot in the place as a twenty-two-year-old college student -- the bar stools have been replaced and the floor has been repainted and some of the booths in the corner near the dartboard have been removed to make room for more pool tables and a wider, open space. The two individuals working behind the bar are masked with faces that look much younger than how Laura remembers Clint looking when he was in their position, and a quick glance at her husband confirms he's not familiar with them, despite still making regular trips to his old place of work every now and again. In one sense, the bar feels like somewhere that's new and different, but like the farm, there’s enough familiarity built into the crooked walls that allows Laura to remember exactly what it felt like when she sat here and met the man who would later become her husband.

“What are you thinking about?” Natasha asks as Laura slides onto a bar stool, leaving them to flank her on either side. She squeezes her hand under the table and Laura shares a glance with Clint.

“Tequila sunrises,” he says after a moment. Natasha looks at Clint and then Laura, and then groans.

“You really _do_ pick up all your women in bars, don’t you?”

“I didn’t pick _you_ up in a bar!” Clint protests as he attempts to flag down the bartender. “I picked you up in Russia!”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You took me to a bar on our first date.”

“That was _not_ a date,” Clint says grumpily. “That was me attempting to appease you so you didn’t kill anyone.”

Natasha shrugs. “Same thing.” She bumps Laura’s shoulder and orders a round of whiskey shots for each of them. “Good thing I learned to love you.”

Clint’s phone beeps once, vibrating loudly inside his pocket, alerting them to the fact that Nathaniel is still sleeping and Lila has been put to bed and Cooper is helping Laura’s mom clean up the kitchen thanks to their extensive brownie mess. He shoves the phone at both Laura and Natasha so they can read the messages before accepting his own shot, which he downs quickly.

“Spill,” he says after he returns his glass to the table and Laura looks up in confusion, finding Clint staring at Natasha. He’s leaning forward eagerly, as if he expects her to open up about every secret she’s ever had.

“Spill what?” Natasha asks carefully, turning her gaze from where she’s been staring at the football game on the large overhead televisions.

“Everything,” Clint says, waving his hand around. “Cap. Wanda.”

“You _talk_ to Wanda,” Natasha reminds him and Clint sets his mouth in a straight line.

“Not about this. What the hell are you doing over there?”

“Training, just like I told you,” Natasha says with a hint of impatience. “And if you're so curious about everyone else, you should know that Stark stopped by the other day to run his mouth about some new foundation he’s starting.”

“Tony Stark’s stealing from the rich and giving to the poor?” Clint asks sarcastically and Natasha rolls her eyes as she downs her shot easily.

“It’s called the September Foundation. Apparently, he’s going to provide grants and fund research projects for MIT. I guess it’s his way to make amends, more or less, after the mess we made in Sokovia.”

“Better than leaving a wake of kills in every country,” Clint mutters and Natasha gives him a sharp look as Laura puts a hand on his arm.

“ _Clint_.”

Clint ignores both of them, signaling for another round of whiskey. “So what does Stark’s new organization have to do with you guys?”

Natasha shrugs, glancing at Laura, who is nursing her own shot. “Because he wants the Avengers...or, whatever we are now -- he wants us to have some sort of representation in his PR release. I don’t know, Clint, I don’t pay that much attention to Stark’s affairs. I’m too busy trying to work so I can come home and make Lila’s grilled cheese lunches and make sure I don’t miss Nate’s first words.”

Clint frowns, rubbing a finger over the rim of his glass. “I thought Pepper handled all of that PR stuff.”

“And I thought we weren’t talking about work tonight,” Laura breaks in a little too curtly. Clint’s face becomes awash in guilt, almost as if he hasn’t realized what he’s said or what he’s been engrossed in conversation about for the past ten minutes.

“Sorry,” he apologizes quietly and Laura watches as his gaze drops to the bar table. “I know. I guess it’s just hard for me to be on the outskirts sometimes.”

“You _want_ to be on the outskirts,” Laura reminds him gently, rubbing his arm. “But this is the first time we’ve all been out together without the kids since before Natasha started living here, and I want you to remember what it feels like to be retired. Breakfasts, treehouses...”

“PTA meetings?” Natasha leans over and puts her hand on Clint’s arm, reaching around Laura and catching her eye. “Beach trips, school lunches, baths, soccer practices, birthday parties --”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Clint signals for another round of drinks. “I get it, okay? I’m retired. Stop ganging up on me.” He pauses, nodding towards Natasha. “And by the way, you have glitter in your hair.”

“I do no --” Natasha stops, trailing her fingers through red strands. Laura watches as she stares at her hands, narrowing her eyes when she realizes the pads of her pointer finger and thumb are flecked with golden sparkles. “Shit,” she mutters and Laura can’t help the outright laugh that escapes her throat.

“Welcome to the wide world of parenting,” she says, motioning at Clint who is glancing down towards where his phone is hidden. “Glitter in your hair and worrying that your mother is going to call and say your baby threw up in the sink again.”

“Well.” Natasha swallows, her eyes bright. “Guess I have to suck it up, right? You’re stuck with me now. And I have about ten years of parenting to make up for in this marriage, so don’t think I’m going to get used to this anytime soon.”

Laura’s limbs start to tingle at Natasha’s words, a feeling brought on not so much by alcohol as much as by happiness, a feeling that she still hasn’t quite let herself accept. It was almost strange at times to hear Natasha sound so confident when it came to their relationship and their family, but then, Laura supposes it would be, given all the years of back and forth.

“You better not stop,” she says when she finds her voice again. “Lila still needs help with her book report.”

“And I said we would do that tomorrow, after I had a day to rest,” Natasha says with a small smile. “Though, now I’m regretting that promise.” As if to prove her point, she downs another shot and Clint rolls his eyes.

“Oh, please. You act like you could never hold your liquor.”

“If you’re still upset about Paraguay all those years ago, I can tell you the story of my wild freshman year of college,” Laura reminds her husband, heading off what she knows will be the start of a friendly yet long-winded argument. “If I remember correctly, I believe a game of strip poker was involved.”

“Hang on.” Clint practically falls off the barstool at her words. “I’ve been married to you for over fifteen years, and I never knew about _strip poker_?”

“Clint.” Laura reaches for the shot that Natasha’s ordered, motioning for the bartender to leave the bottle. “You’ve been married to me for over fifteen years and I didn’t know until last weekend that you had sex with Natasha in a jail cell.”

“That was one time!”

Natasha shrugs off Clint’s comment, leaning onto her elbows. “Personally,  _I’m_ interested in hearing more about strip poker.” She plays with Laura’s hair, brushing a finger along an errant strand that refuses to keep its place behind her ear. “Maybe we can make it a regular thing when the kids are out of the house.”

“Well.” Laura tosses Natasha a sly smile, swallowing down a mouthful of bitter liquid and suppressing the chill that rolls through her body. “I’d certainly be open to that. Besides, you’re both way too competitive for your own good.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Natasha says, smirking in Clint's direction, and they all lift their glasses in silent agreement.

 

***

 

It’s approaching eleven when Laura finally drives them back to the farm, and she only feels a little bad when she opens the door and finds her mother practically asleep on the couch with Cooper stretched out on her lap, video game console clutched loosely between his fingers. She ushers Clint and Natasha upstairs, both of them climbing a little clumsily, and then prods Cooper awake after kissing her mom.

“Wha’ time is’t?”

“Way past your bedtime, kiddo.” Laura helps him off the couch, hoping he can’t smell the lingering stench of alcohol on her breath and Elizabeth gathers her things as Laura waves her off. _Call you tomorrow_ , she manages to convey with her eyes, feeling a sense of relief. Despite heading up the conversation, she hadn’t been sure, at the time, if she wanted to truly open up about her relationship with Natasha and Clint after so many years of her mother believing Clint was the only person she loved. Now, she knows she’s glad she jumped the hurdle. There was still a slight sense of awkwardness, especially when it came to family gatherings, but Laura’s mother understood more than anything what it meant to have unconditional love and a supportive family, something Natasha had been sorely missing for most of her life.

“Where’s dad?”

“In our room getting ready for bed,” Laura answers, guiding him up the stairs. “He’ll come in to say goodnight in a bit.”

“Nat?”

“With daddy.”

“Sorry. ‘Bout stayin’ up. Grandma said I could. Wasn’t tired.”

Laura smiles gently. “I know, kiddo. It’s okay.” She makes a quick assumption based on the fact Cooper’s in his pajamas that he’s already brushed his teeth and tucks him into bed, being careful not to wake Lila, who is lumped under the covers across the room, tucked tightly into her faded _Beauty and the Beast_ comforter. Laura checks in on Nate, who is mercifully sleeping in his crib surrounded by several stray toys, and prays that her son can hold off for at least a few hours until all of them can get some sleep and attempt to sober up more.

“Say goodnight to your rebel son,” she informs Clint afterwards when she enters their bedroom, finding both Clint and Natasha practically passed out on top of one another. Clint groans into the covers.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Laura says unapologetically. “Also, you’re on my side of the bed.”

Clint groans again but manages to get himself up, rolling rather ungracefully off the mattress and half-stumbling out of the room. Laura takes advantage of his absence to strip quickly until she’s mostly naked.

“You smell like whiskey,” Natasha mumbles as Laura pulls down the covers and crawls into bed, kissing her.

“So do you,” Laura returns, watching Natasha’s lips fold into a slight smile. “But I think I’ll keep you.”

“You think?” Natasha asks drowsily. Laura laughs under her breath as the door creaks open.

“Hey!”

“Clint.” Laura reaches her hand back as far as it will go, closing her eyes and imagining his indignant face, rumpled hair and slight pout. “Come to bed.”

She’s tired enough from both drinking and the stress of the day that it doesn’t take her long to fall asleep. But once she feels the dip of the mattress indicating Clint’s finally settled himself, and when he slings his arm over Natasha’s waist and when Natasha takes Laura’s hand and tucks it underneath her chin, Laura finds herself snapping awake. Her bleary vision meets Natasha’s face, eyes wide and alert as they stare at Laura intently and with all the scrutiny of a spy.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s creepy to watch someone sleep?” Laura asks throatily and Natasha half-smiles, trailing a finger down her cheek.

“Not to my face,” she replies softly as the sound of distinct snoring starts to filter into the silence. “You okay?”

Laura nods, realizing she must be looking at Natasha in a way that’s causing her concern. “Yes. Why?”

Natasha shrugs as much as she can given that Clint’s more or less passed out on the other side of her. “It’s just something I’ve noticed. You both do that a lot.”

“Do what?” Laura asks, coming awake, curiosity overtaking her tired brain. Natasha hesitates, as if she’s not sure how to explain herself, even though Laura knows by now there are very few things that make Natasha uncomfortable when it comes to talking about their relationship.

“That...thing. That thing where you look like your children when they’re trying to figure out how to ask an adult something important. You get lost in these looks that make me wonder what you’re thinking about and not saying out loud. Either that or you're just trying to memorize how I look so you can put a hit on me.”

Laura’s cheeks grow hot with a blush that she thinks might also be due to the alcohol finally settling in her system, though she knows she hasn’t drank nearly enough to be affected in any way. “It’s just...these moments,” she says quietly after a long pause, trying to figure out how to phrase her words. “They’re still a little new, sometimes. Even though I know you’ve always been here --”

“I know,” Natasha interrupts quietly. “I like having these moments, too. It’s harder for me to sleep at the compound, now, when I’m away. It feels like it did before Clint.” She pauses. “I guess that means something, right?”

Laura nods slowly. “Even before the kids, Clint had a hard time sleeping away from home when he was at SHIELD,” she says softly. “At least, before you both became close.”

“Birds of a feather,” Natasha says, smiling tightly in the dark but Laura detects a waver in her normally firm tone.

“You’re home.” She leans over to kiss Natasha gently, noting how Natasha’s lips are trembling as if she’s trying to keep herself from falling apart. “ _We’re_ home.” She settles into the pillow and holds Natasha’s gaze until her eyes drop, her breathing becoming deep and even. Laura allows herself a few seconds to be grateful for everything that she has in this moment, before she finally lets her mind succumb to the dark shadows of sleep that pull at the edges of her brain.

 

***

 

Natasha wakes up far too early considering she knows she’d been overtired before she even got to the bar, not to mention the amount of alcohol she’d let herself consume -- less than she knows it would actually take her to get drunk but enough to make her feel off-kilter.

Clint and Laura have left her alone in the bed and Natasha lies still for a few moments, cataloguing the sounds of the house: barely discernible whines that bleed through the cracked walls, signaling Nathaniel has been roused and probably fed; the low hum of the television singing songs of friendship and playtime, faint creaking directly underneath her from the living room floor that she recognizes as Clint’s feet without the aid of his slippers. A quick glance at the bedside clock reveals that it’s past seven, which means Laura has already taken Cooper to soccer practice and come home, which also means the smell of coffee is wafting through the house, something Natasha is slowly becoming more aware of the more she wakes up. She gets out of bed, donning sweatpants and one of Clint’s old SHIELD t-shirts, ripped and faded along the arms where his too-big biceps have stretched out the hemming.

“About time you woke up,” Laura says when Natasha enters the kitchen. Nate is cooing quietly in her arms, tiny arms waving every so often. “Sleep okay?”

Natasha catches the look in Laura’s eyes, knowing that with Lila in the next room, she can’t exactly mention the fact she had woken up to Laura casually running her hands over her breasts. “I think so. Late night or not, sleeping in my own bed again did me good.”

“Good enough to drive a minivan and deal with screaming children?” Laura hands her a cup of coffee in her owl shaped mug and Natasha sighs.

“Well. Nothing will ever be good enough for _that_.” She sits down, sifting through the pages of the morning paper that either Laura or Clint has left open. “Honestly, I don’t know how you ever managed to _not_ forget your children somewhere without me.”

“It was a few years worth of anxiety attacks,” Laura admits as Lila walks into the kitchen holding a full bowl of Corn Pops in both hands.

“Morning, Tasha!”

Natasha smiles despite the tiredness and lingering headache that refuses to abate. “Morning, Lila baby.” She put down her coffee and opens her arms as Lila bounds towards her, milk spilling out of the side of the bowl and onto the floor before she puts it on the table carefully. “Are we still on for your book report today?”

Lila hugs Natasha tightly and then nods, her eyes narrowing in confusion as she looks past Natasha’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with daddy?”

Natasha turns around and follows her gaze, watching Clint walk back into the kitchen a few paces behind his daughter, rubbing his forehead. She hides a smile, immediately recognizing his slow gait from one too many nights of drinking.

“I don’t think daddy’s feeling too well.”

“Oh.” Lila perks up again, smiling up at Natasha. “Does he need some hugs?”

“I think so,” Natasha agrees, winking at Laura. She watches Lila run to her father, wrapping her arms around his legs tightly and pressing her face into his faded jeans.

“Feel better, daddy.” She hugs him again and then kisses his pants for good measure, before skipping out of the living room.

“It’s not funny,” Clint complains, sliding into the kitchen chair, shoving his hands over his face.

“It kind of is,” Laura remarks as she nuzzles Nate’s tiny skull, eliciting a tiny giggle. “And it’s a good thing our daughter has compassion, because I have no sympathy for you.”

“I didn’t even drink that much,” Clint continues as Lila pads back into the kitchen with a plastic crown on her head, talking quietly to herself. Natasha watches out of the corner of her eye to make sure the five-year-old isn’t paying too much attention to the conversation.

“Which is why it’s funny,” Laura says. She drops her voice. “I’ll take her to the mall today, if you want.”

“No.” Clint shakes his head as Lila wanders back out of the room. “No, let me take something and I’ll be good. I could use the fresh air anyway.” He reaches for the coffee Laura’s left out and glares at Natasha. “Don’t say anything.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Natasha replies smoothly, making sure Lila is far enough away before leaning over to brush her lips against his skin. “I just like seeing you fall apart sometimes. It reminds me of when I thought you were too perfect to be human.”

Clint snorts, gulping down mouthfuls of coffee and grimaces thanks to the hot liquid. “Yeah, well. When you’re bringing in an assassin and need to make sure you won’t die, you tend not to give up all your messy family secrets.”

Natasha smiles, clutching her own mug as her wrist vibrates suddenly. She glances down at the small device that masquerades as a hyperactive sort of Apple watch, only instead of fancy bells and whistles like heart rate monitoring and fitness tracking, Natasha’s is equipped to receive emergency calls and emails while away from the compound. It had been a gift of sorts from Tony, when she mentioned she needed something a little more advanced because she wasn’t going to be living at the compound the entire time with everyone else.

“Something wrong?”

Natasha looks back up, trying to push the notification from her mind, the one that had flashed quickly with ROGERS, STEVE: URGENT before fading to black.

“No,” Natasha responds, thankful that his brain probably won’t be as sharp this morning. “Just some emails coming through from yesterday. Delayed notifications. I’ll take care of them while you're at the mall.”

“Sounds good.” Clint looks at Laura. “You okay with him?”

Laura nods. “I’m going to take Nate with me when I pick up Cooper from practice and take them both to the library. I think it’s good for everyone to get out of house for a bit, and Natasha can do some work without being interrupted.”

“You know, I _have_ mastered the ability to work and be a mother around three kids,” Natasha says pointedly.

“Oh, yes you have,” Laura responds with a grin. “And I love it.” She gets up, heading into the living room to sit more comfortably with the baby and Clint groans again.

“I’m taking a shower. I’d ask you if you want to join, but --”

“I got it.” She waves her hand, indicating her watch. “Plus, I’m not really a fan of watching you struggle for an erection when you’re still half hung over.”

“Ugh. I love you too.” Clint makes a face and then walks out of the kitchen, taking his coffee with him. Natasha lets the sounds of the farm settle, until there’s mostly silence save for Laura’s soft singing and Nate’s incoherent babbling and the squeal of the shower being turned on upstairs, followed by a rush of water. Natasha takes her own coffee and an overweight blueberry muffin from the bread bowl and then heads to the sun room, locking the door behind her and putting her breakfast down on the small side table.

“What’s up?” Natasha asks once she gets on her phone and calls Steve, who picks up on the first ring.

“Hello to you, too. Did you even read my email?”

Natasha hesitates. “No,” she admits. “But I know whatever it is you’re telling me, it’s something I should hear over the phone, otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered me here.”

Steve sighs and Natasha imagines him running a wide hand down his face, leaving sweaty red marks against his skin. “Yeah, well. We got a lead on Rumlow.”

“What?” Natasha hunches over, bringing the phone more tightly to her ear, all of her senses snapping into rapt attention. “How?”

“A lot of intel and a few weeks of digging, and some aerial work from Sam,” Steve responds. “Not to mention some sloppy reports and patterns. I want to bring the whole team out for some recon.”

“Hang on.” Natasha feels her heart stop, putting her hands out as if she’s stumbled and needs to catch herself before she falls. “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” Steve confirms. “You, Sam, Wanda -- we need all the help we can get.”

Natasha looks up and around the room, letting her gaze settle on the windows stained with two night’s worth of rainfall, the lightening blue sky becoming pastel overhead. Cooper’s latest art project, a paper mache elephant, is leaning haphazardly on the large television stand Laura had bought at a garage sale earlier in the month.

“I don’t know if we’re ready to do a mission like this, Steve. It’s big. It’s risky. They’re still new --”

“And this is exactly what they need,” Steve breaks in impatiently. “They’ve been training for months. They know how to control and use their powers and skills. How are they going to learn how to be a team...how are they going to learn how to fight in the real world, if we don’t let them?”

Natasha blinks. “And so you’re going to shove them out the door for something like this?”

“You know that Fury gave us that exact same treatment before New York,” Steve argues and Natasha grits her teeth to stop herself from saying something she knows she’ll regret. She counts to ten in her head before responding; there are battles she knows she needs to choose with her teammate and her friend, and she also knows this is one that’s not worth provoking.

“But you’re not Fury. And all of us had been in war in some way or another and knew how to fight the big battles, Steve. We had experience. I mean, are you even thinking of the potential consequences if something goes wrong?”

“What, you want me to wait until another killer robot comes for us and we have no choice?” Steve asks impatiently. “Come on, Nat. This is the first shot that we've had in months and it might be the only one we get. It’s the perfect opportunity. I’ll be there and you’ll be there and we’ll be able to control the fight. Turn it into a real-time training session where we can show them how this stuff works in the field. Sam’s been in battle before, he can handle this.”

“Wanda hasn’t,” Natasha reminds him, before closing her eyes on Steve’s resigned sigh. “Where?”

It’s Steve’s turn to hesitate. “Nigeria. More specifically, Lagos. We think he’s targeting the Institute for Infectious Diseases, preparing to release some gas or toxin. We need all hands on deck, eyes and ears, ground and sky. This isn’t just about Rumlow. It’s civilians, Nat.”

Natasha exhales loudly. _Fuck civilians_ , she wants to say, but she knows she can’t. _Fuck everything that’s not right here, at the farm, with the people I love_.

“Don’t suppose you need an extra archer, do you?”

“Clint’s retired. That’s why you go to the farm. Or so you tell me.”

Natasha smiles tightly. “Right.” She swallows, listening to the sounds of Laura singing softly. She’s walking now, Natasha can tell, moving around the kitchen with the baby, close to the room. “When do you want me back?”

“As soon as possible. We want to move out while the trail is still hot enough, and it’s going to take enough time to get the team together as it is with briefings and preparations. Can you be back in New York by tomorrow night?”

Natasha’s heart tears into pieces at the words and she finds herself blinking back unexpected tears thinking of Lila’s book report, the one she had promised to help with and then present in class. She tries not to let her mind fixate on Cooper’s games and his homework, and Nathaniel, who every day was inching closer to his first words and first steps. Natasha had missed it all with Cooper, and she had experienced it with Lila, but Nathaniel was the first time she was supposed to experience it as a true part of the family. She bites back a laugh, remembering how Laura had asked if she wanted to go to her first Girl Scout meeting later that week and how Clint had teased he would finally teach her how to make homemade apple pie. Natasha allows her eyes to clear and her voice to steady itself before she speaks again.

“Yes. Probably.”

“Well, let me know. I’ll send over some information. We need you. And tell Barton we need him, too, if he ever wants to pick up his bow again.”

“Clint picks up his bow more than you know,” Natasha responds a bit defensively, because it’s true. Unlike Loki and unlike the sabbatical he had taken to be home with Laura and the kids when Hydra happened and when Laura had her miscarriage, Clint shot almost every other day, both to keep up his skill and, Natasha suspected, to keep himself from growing too bored. “He’s retired, he’s not incapacitated.”

“Noted. I’ll call you, Romanoff.”

Natasha nods, unable to find her voice again, and hangs up the phone, letting it fall into her lap. She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths as well as a few sips of now-lukewarm coffee, and then finally bites into her muffin.

Natasha sits alone and eats quietly, mulling over the conversation, and then gets up and wipes the crumbs off her pants. She curls up on the old couch and tries to focus on her work, the few emails and notes that have come through, the check-ins from Wanda that she’ll relay to Clint and Laura later, even though Natasha knows Clint’s given Wanda one of his old cell phones for easy access -- a lifeline of sorts for someone who could offer comfort when no one else could, the same way Natasha once gave Cooper a way to contact her when he wanted to tell her things he couldn’t tell his parents. She puts on a game face when Laura pokes her head into the room to announce she’s leaving for the library, closes her eyes again when the door shuts and the house immerses itself into quiet, and by the time Clint gets back from the mall, walking in the door with Lila, she’s so anxious that she just wants to get the whole thing over with. She meets him in the hallway, catching his eye as soon as he takes off his shoes.

“I need to talk to you.”

Lila’s fixated on her snack and stuffing her face with Cheetos, pulling the puffed cornmeal out of the plastic bag and sticking each finger methodically into her mouth to suck off the orange residue. Natasha watches Clint’s face change just enough to know he’s understood the seriousness behind her words and when he nods, it’s so subtle even she almost misses it.

“Hey, Lila baby.” He finishes easing out of his sandals and leans down, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the corner of her mouth. “Can you go upstairs and wash your hands and face, and Nat and I will be up in a bit?”

“Then we’ll do my book report?” Lila asks hopefully, turning an expectant face towards Natasha.

“After lunch,” Clint promises gently, standing up again and wiping his hands on his jeans as Lila walks up the stairs. Clint waits until they hear the bathroom door click shut before he speaks again. “What’s up?”

The shift from Clint Barton, casual dad and husband, to Clint Barton, concerned partner and former SHIELD agent, is only noticeable via a vocal change as Clint’s voice drops from a higher register to a low rumble. Still, it’s seamless enough that Natasha almost wants to laugh at how well he’s perfected it. She resists the urge to rib him about looking better and less hungover than this morning, not wanting to delay the conversation she knows she has to have.

“Not here,” she says, motioning to the door and Clint frowns more as he follows her outside, bare feet slapping against the newly painted wood of the porch.

“Nat?”

She closes the door softly behind her and then takes a deep breath. “Clint --”

“Natasha?”

The voice breezes through the wind blowing past Natasha’s face and when she turns around, Laura’s walking towards the farm with Cooper bringing up the rear, Nate secure in the baby bjorn Natasha's refused to be seen in public with. Laura shifts her tote bag on her shoulder, eyebrows knitted in deep concern. “Is everything okay?”

 _No_. “Of course.” Natasha smiles, feeling her face morph into a tense grin, and she knows whether or not she’s intended it, Laura can see right through her words. “Just wanted to grab some fresh air. Coop, can you go inside and find your dad’s bow that you’ve been working on? I think I can show you some pointers on how to fix part of the string.”

The words have their intended effect as Cooper grins, running up the porch and into the house, leaving Laura alone outside. Natasha looks at Clint and then at Laura, framed against the landscape of the farm, silhouetted against the autumn-tinged trees which are growing thick with a fire-spread blanket of gold and orange. The cuffs of her ripped jeans are lined with dirt and her hair is spilling over her shoulders onto her oversized sweatshirt, which is stained with coffee and crayon smudges; with no makeup except sunscreen and concealer she looks both natural and unkempt, messy and put together at the same time. It makes Natasha think of some of her first visits to the farm, when she had been unsure and uncertain of everything except for this: she loved the two people who lived here, and she longed to call this place her home.

Natasha’s insides curl in both fear and sadness as she takes in their faces, Clint’s concern and Laura’s gentle understanding, because there’s a part of her that knows she can’t deny the fact something is about to change, no matter how much she wants to pretend running and fighting won’t always be her life -- even with a ring, even with a promise, even with a set of vows.

“Natasha, what --”

“Steve called. They’re pulling the team together, and there’s a mission he needs my help with. And I need to go back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again. 
> 
> If you're along for this ride, know that this is, again, a write-as-I-go type of deal -- which means upcoming chapters will be added as quickly as I can churn them out. As you've probably figured out, this story will run through the course of Civil War from the perspective of Clint and Nat and Laura as a family, and it will explore how they deal with everything that happened during the film as well as everything that comes after, including Clint's sacrifices and decisions when it comes to Wanda.
> 
> For those that prefer to read WIPs when they're finished: I can promise you that there is an outline in place and that I do have a specific end planned out. I am writing regularly to keep this updated as often as I can, but I have no idea what the length of this will turn out to be, hence the unconfirmed chapter count. I DO know that I plan to give this relationship the depth and intricacy it deserves, especially since there was no storyline for the farm at all in the movie. Because of this, most of these chapters will likely be on the longer end, and the story itself will have a bit of a slow build especially in the first few chapters, as I attempt to show what happened outside of what we saw onscreen, both with Clint and Nat and Laura, and with Clint and Wanda. It's important to me to be able to show those emotional beats of these characters in a way that services the story, and I can absolutely promise that everything will pay off in later chapters. 
> 
> Thank you in advance for sticking around and coming on this journey once more. And I make no apologies in advance for feelings. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://isjustprogress.tumblr.com) for more fic and OT3 fandom feels.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s amazing, Laura thinks, how quickly change happens when you’re not looking.

With her kids, she turned around one day to see infants and then toddlers and then walking, talking (and in Cooper’s case, snark-ridden) humans. With Natasha, she turned around one day to see a friend and then a lover and then a competent domesticated mother. With Clint, she turned around one day to see a bartender and then an unsure SHIELD agent and then a confident dad and husband.

After Natasha tells Clint that she needs to go back to work, change happens almost instantly and without much warning, though Laura feels like she should have expected as much. Clint becomes moody, getting up early and grabbing his jacket and his ax and sequestering himself away from the farm. He ends up near the big tree down the road, where the sound of dull chopping reverberates across the early-morning sky like drumbeats signaling an impending war.

“He’ll live,” Natasha says sadly, holding her mug in two hands while leaning her elbows on the porch rail and staring in the direction of the sound. “I’m still coming home after. It’s what we’re used to.”

Laura purses her lips. “He’s taking it harder than he should.”

Natasha sighs. “I know he wants to stay here. I know that. But there’s a part of him that will always feel like he needs to be useful, somehow.” Her lips turn up as she takes another sip of coffee, an emotion Laura thinks might be rooted in wry acceptance. “It’s how he’s made.”

“Don’t I know it,” Laura mutters and Natasha dips her head forward, allowing her breath to skim the surface of her drink.

“I’m sorry,” she says as more heavy thumps vibrate across the lawn, and Laura turns towards her.

“For what?”

“For making it so hard to love us,” Natasha says, the words coming out huskily. “I just...I’m sorry.”

Laura’s stomach twists itself into knots and she reaches out, curling her fingers around Natasha’s wrist. “No. Nat, don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry. No one asked you to give up this life. The fact that you’re coming home at all…” She stops, taking a breath and letting her exhale mediate her next words. “I never asked Clint to give up SHIELD when it was hard to see him go. Retiring was his choice, Natasha. Staying here and still working to help the team was yours. And I’d never ask you give up your life unless you wanted to.”

Natasha swallows hard. “I do want to,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think. At some point. I love being here with you and I love the kids, and I love that we’re a family again. But...”

“You have a responsibility,” Laura picks up, wishing she could tell Natasha she knew what she was going to say well before her brain made the connection. “Nat, do you know how many years it took for Clint to be able to even think about retiring? Even now, I know…” She trails off, making sure she sounds competent enough to say the rest of her thought out loud. “I know retirement just means he’s not getting called to work. He won’t ever give up being an Avenger and part of me is thankful for that, considering how much we had to push him to feel like he could be a part of the team in the first place. But I know he’d go back if he needed to.”

Natasha’s face confirms what Laura’s been telling herself since Clint walked through the door and assured her that he was done, that he was home, that he would stay. She watches Natasha cup her mug tightly, as if she’s afraid she’ll drop the object and shatter along with it.

“Clint calls Wanda,” she says finally. “And you send pictures. I know she has us, in a way, and that she has him, and that she needs him. But she doesn’t have anyone _there_ , and I need to be that person for her. I need to be that person for her, because he was that person for me.”

“I know,” Laura says, moving her hand across her shoulder. “You know that I know.” The rose-gold band of her wedding ring glints in the light, causing her heart to grow heavy. “Come inside for a moment.”

Natasha gives her a quizzical look but nods, following Laura inside the house. With the weekend over, Cooper and Lila are back at school and Nathaniel is finally sleeping after a night of intense crying due to teething discomfort, which has resulted in all three of them logging two hours of sleep collectively.

“I was saving it, maybe for a birthday or for another special occasion,” Laura says as she motions for Natasha to follow her into the bedroom. “But since you might be away for a bit, I think now is a good time to give it to you.”

Natasha sits down on the bed. “I thought you learned from experience when it came to unnecessary surprises,” she says bitterly but with a smile.

“I did, but it’s also not 2011,” Laura replies, watching out of the corner of her eye as Natasha looks down and fingers her ring.

“No, it’s not.”

Laura walks to the dresser and carefully opens the wooden jewelry box Clint had made her as an anniversary gift some years ago, rooting around amongst costume pieces and a few mismatched earrings until she finds what she’s looking for. “I did some research,” Laura says, unearthing a velvet pouch. “And I found the same metal that was used in the ring I bought for you.” She sits down, handing the pouch to Natasha, who opens it slowly. A pendant in the shape of an eyelet, small and unassuming, spills out when she turns it inside out in her hands. The outer bands are white gold, smooth and round, and there’s a glass filling in the center, clear and a bit opaque where the light hits the edges.

“It took a bit of digging, but I called a few places and ordered a necklace with the same specifications,” she continues quietly. “It’s...I know you don’t want to wear your ring in public because you don’t want people to be suspicious. But I also know you like keeping it near you in some way.” Laura reaches up and runs her fingers through Natasha’s hair. “I wanted you to have the option of keeping us close somehow, and I thought maybe this was a good compromise, while you're working.”

“Hiding in plain sight,” Natasha says a little sadly, staring at the necklace in her hands and Laura nods.

“I’m no spy, but I thought you might like that sentiment.”

Natasha fingers the silver chain and swallows hard. “A little less subtle than an arrow,” she decides after a moment, looking up with bright eyes. “Thank you.”

Laura nods, kissing her on the side of the head. Natasha leans into her and Laura wraps her arms around Natasha’s body, feeling Natasha sag in both tiredness and relief, her own eyes watering when she realizes after tonight, Natasha might not come home as quickly.

“I promised Clint we’d go over Steve’s files before I left,” Natasha says when she lifts her head. “We should probably do it before the kids come home.”

Laura stands up. “Then I’ll make more coffee if you go get our moody husband,” she says with a small smile. Natasha nods and Laura notices she lets herself shake a little bit before she steadies her hands against the comforter, getting up and walking slowly out of the room.

Laura represses the urge to follow or at least stand at the window and see for herself the conversation that she knows will happen once Natasha finds Clint outside: the stubborn anger that will refuse to recede while he ignores her quiet requests to come inside, until she finally snaps and forces him to pay attention with her hands or with her tone of voice. Nonetheless, when Clint finally does make it back to the house, harboring dirty hands and even dirtier clothes, palms reddened from too strong a grip on the ax, he looks somewhat calm given the anger and frustration Laura knows has to be brimming underneath his front.

She runs a hand over his back as he sits down at the table, massaging the coarse skin gently until his shoulders relax and become less tense, hardened muscles becoming supple underneath her fingers. When Natasha sits down at the table and spreads a batch of papers in front of them that she’s printed from the upstairs study, Laura brings two cups of coffee to the table in matching mugs and then quietly moves to the counter to prepare the mulled cider she promised she’d make for her children. It’s a practiced co-existing that allows Clint and Natasha to work alone and have the privacy of their own conversation, while letting herself remain close enough to feel like she’s a part of the exchange.

“Christ alive,” Clint says, looking at the photos Natasha has spread out before him. Laura had only caught a little of the image when it had been printed but it was enough to make her feel sick -- a scarred and burned face that looked like it had been through hell and back, almost mutilated on one side. It looked like something out of the horror films Cooper liked to sometimes watch, the monsters Laura often shook her head at because she knew it was all makeup and not truly real.

“If you didn’t tell me, I would’ve never believed that’s the man who worked with me when I first started at SHIELD.”

“He’s not even that anymore,” Natasha says, making a face. “Meet Crossbones. _This_ is what he calls himself now.” She shoves more photos across the table, and Laura manages to crane her neck back far enough to see the next set of stills -- photos of a man with multiple layers of body armor marked by white crosses and a large white skull mask that conveniently hides his scarred face. Clint leans over and slurps his coffee loudly, eliciting a glare from his partner.

“Jesus. I still can’t believe it. He never dies, does he?”

“He’s got your nine lives,” says Natasha dryly. “But also, apparently Hydra spent a lot of time and money saving his ass. God knows why.”

“Because he was a good soldier,” Clint says matter-of-factly and Natasha raises an eyebrow. “What? I mean, yeah, he was a jackass, but come on, Nat. He was a good soldier. You make good soldiers and you don’t want to lose them, cause you’re probably never going to get them again. Like Barnes. Why do you think they kept the best assassin in the world on ice for over seventy years?”

Natasha carefully ignores his question and shuffles papers as she sits back in her chair. “Well, whatever. He’s not going to be easy to bring in.”

“No shit,” Clint mutters. “And this is why Cap wants you all to go?”

Laura hears the inflection in his voice, and knows that by _you all_ he really means Wanda. Judging from Natasha’s tone when she answers him, she knows that his partner knows it, too.

“I’ll take care of her,” Natasha says gently. “I promise. She already knows how to fight, but she needs to learn how to refine her field work and be a spy. That’s something Steve can’t teach her. But I can.”

Clint doesn’t respond, flexing his fingers and looking down at the various reports. Natasha puts her hand on his arm, steadying his movements.

“Clint. Stop.”

Clint shakes his head. “I can’t. I don’t...Cap isn’t thinking straight. To send Wanda into a war zone like that when she hasn’t been in active battle since Sokovia? And Sokovia wasn't even planned, she got thrown into that, too. Fuck, she’s just a _kid_ , Nat.”

Laura can’t see Natasha’s face from where she’s looking, staring down at an array of ingredients that seem far too comforting in regards to the conversation she’s listening to, but at this point she knows Natasha well enough to imagine exactly how she looks: eyes downcast and face drawn, vulnerability shadowing her features but every other inch of her hardened and serious and bristling with indignation.

“I was just a kid, once. Wanda’s older than I was when I first met you, when I was brought into SHIELD. And her head is on straighter than mine ever was, at least when it comes to working with a team.”

“Yeah, but you had been surviving in a war for years already,” Clint argues. “And you didn’t have powers that you couldn’t control.”

“And that made me a saint who had no issues whatsoever?” Natasha asks, her voice rising dangerously. Laura clutches the handle of the knife more tightly, putting it down before she lets her emotions run away with her.

“Enough,” she says firmly, unable to take any more of the conversation. She grabs for a carton of cranberries and dumps them into a mixing bowl. “This is your last day here for I don’t know how long, and I _don’t_ want you fighting, however casually. Can you please respect that wish?” She picks up the knife again and starts chopping already-peeled apples steadily and with a little too much force, until a soft hand she recognizes as Clint’s finds its place on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to her skin in apology and Laura arches her neck backwards, closing her eyes.

“This isn’t easy on any of us,” she reminds him when she finally turns around. He’s positioned directly against her, hands dropping to her waist, and Natasha is still sitting at the table staring off into the distance. “I _know_ you’re worried about Wanda, Clint. I am too. You know how I feel about her. But I’m also worried about this family. I’m worried --”

“No one has to be worried about this family,” Natasha interrupts, getting up and walking over to the counter. “No matter what happens, this family will _always_ be the one thing we have. We’ve all put each other through too much shit to let anything come between us.”

Laura presses her lips together and tries to smile, knowing Natasha’s words are more than a little true, that it would take a book to chronicle all the ups and downs they’d gone through over the years. “Since when did you become the optimist in this house?”

“Since I spent too much time running and not enough time seeing what was in front of me,” Natasha responds, looking at each of them in turn. She lets her voice drop on her next words. “Since I saw what happened with Wanda and then remembered what it felt like to have no place to belong.”

Laura holds out her hand and Natasha entwines their fingers together while Clint continues to run his palm up and down Laura’s side, until the silence stretches on for far too long.

“Come on,” Natasha says, finally breaking the quiet and the moment. “I need to finish bringing you up to speed before the kids come home.” She tugs at the belt loops on Clint’s jeans until he grudgingly returns to the table, and Laura goes back to measuring tablespoons of cloves and salt. By the time Natasha is scraping her chair back against the floor, the house becoming thick with the sweet aroma of spice and cinnamon, the timer on her phone reminding her that she needs to pick Lila up from kindergarten, Laura can almost pretend that everything has returned to normal.

 

***

 

In the years since Natasha has become a fully fledged member of the Barton family by sentiment and commitment and choice, there are things that, over time, have become easier: explaining her constant presence to friends and family (most, she learns, are too wrapped up in their own lives to truly put the pieces together about their relationship), surviving on little sleep (being up with an infant is nothing like staying awake while trying to track targets in Lima and yet, at the time, extremely similar), becoming immune to an overabundance of requests no matter how guilty she feels about saying no (Cooper at this point has wised up about most things, but Lila’s just beginning to realize what buttons she can push.)

But Natasha is starting to understand that there are certain things that will never get easier, and telling her own children that she needs to leave, however indefinitely, is one of them. She wonders how Clint did this for so many years, running off and coming home without being certain he was screwing up his family. She remembers with a bit of guilt scoffing at his worry that he’d been away too long from his new baby daughter, or rolling her eyes when he got mopey about leaving before one of Cooper’s big games, because _she_ hadn’t wanted to leave the family any of those times, either. But being committed as a mother, Natasha realizes, elicits emotions on an entirely different level.

While Laura finishes her own work for the day and Natasha helps Cooper with his homework, Clint retreats to the back porch where he barbecues with the excuse of it still being warm enough in September to break out the grill, though Natasha knows it’s also because he wants to give her as much family time as possible before she goes back to New York.

“How big is the job you’re going away for?” Cooper asks as he closes his notebook, sticking the thick three-ring binder in his bag.

“Kind of big,” Natasha responds as honestly as possible, mathematic equations still circling through her head. She counts herself lucky that her training has allowed her to pick up enough patterns so that she could be passably competent when it came to helping out with things she had no experience in, like middle school math classes. “We’re going to another country.”

“Oh.” Cooper sits up a little straighter. “You’re going with everyone else?”

Natasha nods. “Yes. Captain America and Sam, the one who you saw when we were on television a few years ago. And Wanda. You know Wanda, right? Dad’s friend?”

“Yeah, the one Nate’s named after,” Cooper says, looking up at Natasha with narrowed eyes. “He talks to her a lot. So if it’s a real mission thing, how come dad isn’t going with you?”

“Because he loves you and he wants to stay here with you, and with your sister and brother and your mom,” Natasha responds, circling an arm around Cooper. “Besides, you still haven’t figured out that bow yet, right?”

Cooper looks up hesitantly. “I was gonna work on it more this weekend, after soccer. I think we’re gonna try to use the new string dad bought at the archery shop.”

“Good.” Natasha kisses him. “Speaking of your dad, I know he wanted your help with dinner after you finished school stuff. Can you go help him with the grill?”

Cooper nods. “Better than algebra,” he says and Natasha laughs.

“A _lot_ better than algebra,” she agrees, pushing him lightly. After Cooper has left her alone, she stretches out along the front porch swing, allowing the heavy stench of charcoal and burned meat to wind its way towards her, a comforting blanket of smells set against unseasonably warm air and a lazy backdrop of multicolored trees and a dimming sky. Above her, a flock of birds skim over the farm in a lazy V formation, shooting across her gaze like the smooth draw of an arrow.

“Auntie Nat?”

“Hey, baby.” Natasha sits up again, shifting as Lila carefully opens the front door. “Did you finish helping mom feed Nate?”

Lila walks to the swing and sits down next to Natasha, staring down at the patterned fabric that Laura had sewn together last summer -- her one project, she had joked, since Clint had about fifty going at any given time. She had tried to teach Natasha how to use the sewing machine, instructing her on how to weave patterns and colors together, and although Natasha didn’t consider herself to have too many skills in the home decorating department, she _did_ admit to finding a fondness in watching things that felt like they shouldn’t go together find their place in a perfect blend.

“Daddy says you can’t come to school to talk about _Amelia Bedelia_ with me tomorrow.”

Natasha watches Lila’s face, a mirror image of Laura’s quiet expressions that say more than her words do, and threads a hand through her hair.

“I can’t, Lila baby,” she says softly. “You know why?”

“Because mommy says you have to go to work with your friends,” Lila says sensibly. “Far away.”

“Yeah,” Natasha says quietly, letting her fingers come to rest at the end of Lila’s long braid. “Because Auntie Nat has to go to work far away.”

Lila looks out at the lawn and then back at Natasha. “Why?” she asks simply, a question rooted in the pure curiosity of a five-year-old who expects an answer to everything that bothers her, and Natasha struggles to find a suitable response.

“Because that’s what my job is,” she says after a moment. “You know how mommy goes to work at school and comes home and daddy goes to work on the house sometimes?”

Lila nods and puts her thumb in her mouth, leaning against Natasha. “Tasha and daddy worked away from home. That’s why I got presents.”

Natasha swallows hard. “Yes. But now because daddy’s home, that means Aunt Nat sometimes has to go away. You know how I’ve been doing that for awhile now? It’s just going to be a little bit of a longer trip.”

“Will you come home before Saturday waffles?” Lila asks around her thumb. Her words are barely discernible, but by now Natasha has had enough training in toddler tendencies to decipher the garbled language almost as well as she’s able to decipher Clint’s terrible handwriting and Laura’s unintelligible sleeptalking. Lila stares at Natasha eagerly, her eyes burning with hopefulness, and guilt coils in Natasha’s stomach.

“I hope so, baby.”

“Mommy said she would come read with me at school. Maybe we can read together when you get home.”

“I’d like that very much,” Natasha says, letting Lila move the swing with her small legs until she tenses up beside her suddenly.

“Daddy!”

Natasha turns her head as Clint rounds the corner of the house in a KISS THE COOK apron stained with grease and soot, cheeks warmed with the exertion of cleaning the grill. In an instant, Lila has slid off the swing and is running towards her father, who scoops her up in both arms and then proceeds to swing her around haphazardly, pressing her to his middle. Lila squeals and Natasha bites down on the motherly reprimand that comes with knowing Lila’s going to look like she crawled out of a dumpster after Clint puts her down.

“Hey, you wanna go help mommy decide what dessert we get to have after dinner tonight?” Clint asks after he’s safely returned his daughter to the ground. “I think someone was asking about chocolate cake earlier this week.”

“That was me!” Lila declares with a giggle as she runs back inside the house. Clint watches her go with his hands on his hips, looking over at Natasha.

“Hey.”

Natasha forces out a smile. “Hey.”

“Hamburger or hot dog?”

Natasha can practically feel the daggers being shot from her eyes. “You didn’t come out here to ask me that.”

“No, I didn’t,” Clint admits, sagging against the porch rail. “But I do need to actually ask.”

Natasha lets her gaze meet the dim sky, dusty with stars and faint clouds. “Hamburger,” she says finally, sitting up and putting her head in her hands. “I don’t know how you did this.”

“What, learn to grill? Believe it or not, Laura’s dad taught me. It was like, the only time we’ve ever really bonded aside from when Laura and I got engaged.”

“No.” Natasha finds she can’t even make herself smile at his obvious attempt to lighten the situation. “This. Leave your family, the kids, and just assume they’ll still...love you when you come back.” The words feel strange to say out loud and she looks up to find Clint standing in front of her, his mouth set in a line of guilt she recognizes all too well.

“SHIELD wouldn’t have been my first choice for a job,” Clint admits, climbing the steps and sitting next to her. He pulls her down by the shoulders until she’s curled against him comfortably, despite the fact she knows her hair is going to be sticky with grease. “If I hadn’t felt like it was the right thing to do, if Fury hadn’t offered the money and the house, if Laura hadn’t pushed me...I would have probably declined the opportunity. But I’m damn glad I made the sacrifices that I did.” He pauses for emphasis on the words that she knows he doesn’t have to explain, and the air leaves Natasha’s lungs.

“It cost you.”

Clint snorts. “Yeah, well. I mean, I guess I could’ve done without Loki and Hydra. And Ultron, for that matter.”

“No kidding,” Natasha mutters, sighing into his dirty clothes. “But you retired.”

“Yeah,” Clint muses as he traces circles over her back with his fingers. “I did. I just...I needed to be a dad, Nat. After Sokovia, I needed to get out of the fight. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t go back if I needed to. If the world needed saving again, and if people I loved were in trouble.”

“The world is always going to be in trouble,” Natasha says a little miserably, remembering Fury’s words that seem like they were uttered a lifetime ago, given how much had changed in her life since the aftermath of Ultron. “And one of us will always have to save it. And we all know that it’ll probably be me.”

Clint stays quiet for a long time beside her. “Would you walk away?” he asks. “After all these years...would you ever do it?”

“You asked me that before,” Natasha says impatiently. “We’ve had this conversation.”

“After Ultron, and before,” Clint agrees. “But we weren’t really on the same page then, were we?”

Natasha twists her head, the barest hint of movement. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she’d found herself wondering about Banner in the past few months, but she also knows she hadn’t bothered to care about looking for him, the urge to find her lost self in someone else satiated by the acceptance of finding her home in the place where she always knew she belonged. She closes her eyes against the soft sounds coming from the kitchen and pouring through the open doors and windows; Laura getting pots and pans out of the dishwasher and the soft trill of showtunes from her iPod.

“I would walk away,” Natasha says finally, letting out a breath, knowing the words are more genuine than she can express. “But I won’t. Because even if it’s just me, I can’t stop protecting this family.”

She gets up before Clint can respond, leaving him outside on the porch swing, and doesn’t look back as she enters the house.

 

***

 

Laura lets dinner last longer than usual, even when she retreats inside to feed and take care of Nathaniel and even when the temperature drops considerably following sunset, the breezy fall winds causing Lila to curl up against Natasha’s chest in Natasha and Clint’s communal sweatshirt that’s at least four sizes too big and wrapped tightly around her body. Dessert is, by unanimous vote, served inside, and Natasha lies on the floor and watches Lila play with Nathaniel, who laughs and claps with chubby baby hands while propped up by pillows. Laura makes tea for Cooper when he decides he’s not really into having a large amount of chocolate after eating more hot dogs than Laura would have allowed, if she had better control over how often Clint acquiesced to his son’s requests for multiple servings of food.

“When’s your flight?” Clint asks after Cooper and Lila have been put to bed. Nate, for his part, is dozing in Laura’s arms, a pacifier stuck in his mouth and his face half snuggled into the crook of her elbow.

“Whenever I get a call. Steve’s sending a quinjet,” Natasha adds off of his confused look and Clint raises an eyebrow.

“Rumlow’s that urgent, huh?”

“Apparently,” Natasha mutters. “But, he wants me back. Guess he can’t wait for me to bypass the security line at Des Moines.” She inclines her head with a sad smirk that Laura thinks almost believably matches her sarcasm and sips the Corona Clint had given her at dinner, the same one she’s been nursing for the past four hours.

“Don’t sell yourself short, you hate that security line,” Laura says, keeping her voice low. She glances at Natasha, comforted when she sees the necklace is firmly set in place against her throat. “You’ll check in, right?”

“Of course. And I’ll be home after we finish this,” Natasha promises. “I swear.”

Laura smiles, looking up sharply when the stairs start to creak. In another moment, a bleary-eyed Lila Barton is standing in the living room, clutching her worn stuffed wolf in the curve of one elbow and rubbing the side of her face with her other hand.

“I forgot to say night to Tasha,” Lila says, her voice hesitant, as if she’s sure all three adults are going to yell at her. Laura exchanges a glance with Clint as Natasha puts her beer on the table and then gets up, lifting Lila in her arms.

“Come on, Lila baby. It’s okay. I’ll put you back to bed.”

Laura watches Natasha climb the stairs and her heart wrenches. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, leaning back on the couch, his mouth lifting at the sight of Nathaniel still sleeping. “I think she’s fine knowing she has to go off and train, but she wasn’t prepared to be thrown back into the fray like this after, well...living here and all.” He pauses. “She knows she has to and she wants to, and she’s as professional as they come, but it doesn’t mean she’s not hurting. I think she’s just letting us see it now rather than a few years ago.”

“And here I thought commitment was going to be the hard part,” Laura says quietly, shaking her head. “Maybe it was selfish of me to think that things would be easier once we were all living together.”

Clint moves closer on the couch. “You remember how you felt when I was away for too long? When I started at SHIELD?”

Laura nods, her mind wandering to the nights that now seem like a distant memory; the aching pain of waiting for Clint to come home that was always combined with not knowing whether or not he would walk through the door with a broken arm or cut face, and the stretch of days where Cooper screamed and cried, the weeks where Laura was left alone with only her work and her mother as company.

“I wanted to kill you,” she says, trying to ignore the gloom settling over the house, as if it’s being brought in along with the darkening night. “But then I realized I’d be stuck taking care of a demon child on my own, so I hid all my murder plans.”

Clint laughs, brushing a hand over Nate’s arm. “Well, so far, this one’s fared a little better. I think.” He moves his hand to Laura’s head, running his fingers down her hair. “You wanna go check on her?”

Laura gives him a look. “I think Natasha’s perfectly capable of putting Lila back to bed, Clint.”

“I wasn’t talking about Lila,” he says wisely, eyeing the stairs. Laura looks down at Nate, nodding slowly as she transfers the baby to Clint’s arms without wondering whether or not it’ll be an issue; by kid number three they’ve long perfected the art of being able to handle babies between them without unnecessary disturbance.

Laura climbs the stairs easily, stopping when she gets to the second floor. The door to Cooper and Lila’s room is closed tightly and the hallway is dark except for a steady stream of light coming from the half-closed door to the master bedroom. Laura enters slowly, allowing the rest of the light to flood the hallway as she steps into the room, meeting Natasha’s back, her long red hair trailing down her shoulders in russet waves.

“Nat?”

Natasha turns around with a guilty look and Laura doesn’t miss the fact she’s holding her wedding ring between two fingers.

“We really need to get Clint on finishing that second bedroom,” she says with a nod towards the door as Laura sits down on the bed. “I feel bad anytime Lila wakes up, because Coop usually can’t help but notice.”

Laura eyes her carefully. “Maybe we should put him in the attic,” she says, deciding to play along with Natasha’s obvious distraction. “He can try to shoot that bow from the window, and I wouldn’t hear him yelling when he gets upset about things.” She waits until Natasha turns around and then holds out her hand. When Natasha finally sits down, Laura notices her eyes are downcast in a show of embarrassment.

“You were going to leave it.”

“I…” Natasha nods. “Yeah,” she admits after a pause. “I was.”

Laura swallows past the hurt and the pain that flares up inside of her, because she knows this isn’t what it could have been so many years ago -- Natasha refusing to commit to their family because she was scared, Natasha not wanting to tie herself to people she loved in that particular way. This was still fear, but it was fear that was being born out of a different reason.

“Clint left his, the first time he went back to SHIELD, after Cooper was born,” Laura offers softly. “I made him take it when he went back. Not because I was worried he would be unfaithful. But because I was worried something would happen and without this, I wouldn’t know.” She reaches over and takes the ring from Natasha’s hand.

“You would know,” Natasha says after a moment, using her now free hand to touch the necklace at her throat. Laura nods.

“I know. And I’ll keep it safe, if that’s what you want.” She puts the ring down between them, letting it sit gingerly on the covers of the bed. “But only if you promise to take it back when you come home.”

Natasha swallows and nods, pushing hair behind her ear. “I promise,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She trails two fingers over the band and Laura tries to smile.

“Good,” she says softly, picking up the ring and putting it on her finger, sliding it on top of the one already there, the one Clint had given her when they had gotten married. When she looks up, Natasha’s staring with a hollow gaze.

“I love you,” Laura says softly, reaching forward and placing her hand against Natasha’s cheek. She holds her palm against her skin until Natasha nods, unraveling with the same ease Laura thinks she might see from a rogue ball of yarn. She realizes she takes for granted how often she sees Natasha like this -- vulnerable, open, soft -- a testament, she knows, to how long she’s known her and how much they’ve shared between them over the years. Laura suddenly feels like the luckiest person in the world to be able to share that part of her, the part she would never let anyone else see.

“Come on.” Laura stands up and takes a breath. “Your ride will be here soon enough, and if we don’t go back downstairs, Clint’s going to start to worry something’s really wrong. Or that he’s missing impromptu sex.” She pulls Natasha to her feet and when they get back downstairs, Clint looks up from where he’s been lying with Nate, his eyes confused and questioning.

“She’s asleep,” Natasha says, sitting back down on the couch. “I told her the story of how you spent four days wandering around Bucharest trying to ask where our hostel was but you were really telling them you had to use the bathroom over and over again because your Romanian is shit.”

“You did not,” Clint says, his face paling in the dim light sneaking in from the windows, and Natasha huffs out a quiet laugh.

“No, I didn’t, but I thought one of us should attempt to break the mood before I leave.” She looks at Clint and lets her gaze drop to Nate, a silent request Laura’s learned to read without thinking about it. Clint shifts until the baby has been transferred to Natasha’s grip.

“I’m coming back soon, so don’t give anyone too much trouble,” Natasha chastises as Nate wiggles around, trying to orient himself. The baby’s eyes open slowly but instead of crying, his face relaxes into a smile, tiny lips stretching wide.

“Na-na-na-na!” Nate babbles loudly and Clint squeezes Natasha’s arm.

“Just a guess, but someone doesn’t want you to go,” he says as Natasha’s watch beeps, mingling with Nate’s string of letters. Laura and Clint both look down at the same time.

“Guess that’d be the Bat signal, right?”

“Yeah,” Natasha sighs. “I guess.” She doesn’t move, though, and so Laura gets up, bringing Natasha’s now-empty bottle and a couple of stray mugs to the sink. She stops at the cupboard, considering, and then takes out a mostly-empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Laura?”

Clint’s looking at her curiously as she walks back into the living room, unscrewing the top of the bottle.

“We’re all acting like you’re going away for some big assignment,” she says as takes a drink, running her tongue over her lips as the alcohol slides down her throat. “Like things are going to change. But you’re not doing anything except going to work. You’re going to help your friends, you're going to be there for Wanda, and then you’re coming home, Nat.” She holds out the bottle. “It’s no different than anything Clint would have done years ago. It’s no different than leaving to train, like you’ve been doing for months.”

“I can’t help it,” Natasha says, looking down at Nate, who is flailing around in her arms now. “It feels different.”

“Because it _is_ different,” Laura says, softening her tone. “Because we’re family, and because now you feel that responsibility means more than just coming home to me and Clint, or being there for the kids. Because the stakes are higher and you’re going into a fight with that on your back.” She sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “But that doesn’t mean you have to think of this assignment as a death sentence.”

Natasha rocks Nate back and forth in silence, smiling more when he babbles again. “I’ve been selfish, huh?” she asks, standing up.

“No,” Laura says patiently, her heart growing three sizes because as much as change had come easily to Natasha, seeing her this way -- fully committed, fully present -- is something she knows has been a much slower transition. “You’ve been a mother. Which is what we’ve always wanted for you. But you’ve been through so much already.” She fights against her own sudden tears. “Don’t make this more of a burden when it doesn’t have to be.”

Natasha kisses a squirming Nate before passing him back to Laura as Clint reaches for the bottle.

“To family,” Clint says softly, drinking as Natasha’s watch beeps again. Laura watches Natasha ignore the sound, taking the bottle from him.

“To family,” she echoes, holding Laura’s gaze as Nathaniel snuggles into Laura’s arms and moonlight pours through the open window, bathing the three of them in a tender glow.

 

***

 

Natasha returns to New York with a determined face, a mind trained towards professionalism, and a dozen of Laura’s homemade banana muffins. The necklace hangs around her throat, the orb flush against her skin, a stark reminder of everything she’s leaving behind and what she’s promised to come home to.

“Welcome back,” Steve says when Natasha walks into the compound, looking up and around the television set on the large chrome desk that practically screams _Stark_. “How’s Barton?”

“Fine,” Natasha says smoothly. “How’s the team?”

“Fine,” Steve returns, getting up and turning off the television, which has been droning quietly with morning news. “I was waiting for you before I told them about Rumlow.”

Natasha straightens in surprise, almost dropping her bag on the floor. “You didn’t tell them?” She knows she can’t stop the incredulousness bleeding into her tone, and Steve’s sigh confirms as much.

“I thought it would be better to tell them together, since this is the first assignment we’re pursuing as a team. Plus, they’re likely to have questions.” He pauses to allow his words to sink in and then crosses his arms. “I assume you told Clint.”

“Of course I told Clint,” Natasha says irritably, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. _And Laura_ , she thinks silently. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“You know, for a guy who’s retired, Clint seems to know a hell of a lot about what’s going on.”

Natasha regards him carefully. “Last I checked, Clint was still an Avenger. Just not one that’s actively fighting right now.” She levels her gaze. “Also, what I do with my time away from the compound and what choose I tell my _partner_ is my own business. It always has been. But if Uncle Steve ever wants to make a visit out to Iowa, there’s some kids who would love to give him a tour of the farm. And a cute baby.”

Steve snorts quietly, rolling his eyes. “I think I’ve had my tour of the farm already,” he says dryly. “And anyway, it’ll take awhile before I’m Uncle Steve to anyone, least of all Barton’s kids, who I didn’t even know existed until a few months ago.”

Natasha shrugs. “Your loss. Just throwing out the offer.” She turns on her heel and heads down the hall towards where she knows the bedrooms are located. Wanda’s door is closed but it opens easily when Natasha tries the lock, and Natasha knows enough about Wanda to know that if she truly wants to be alone, she takes the necessary precautions to keep people away.

“I come bearing gifts,” Natasha says as she deposits the box of muffins on her desk, startling Wanda, who has been reading. She puts down the book carefully and Natasha catches sight of the cover -- _The Help_ \-- recognizing it as one of Laura’s book club picks that she had sent along in her most recent care package.

“I did not know you were returning so soon.”

Natasha shrugs as Wanda adjusts her long shirt, a midnight blue one-piece that Natasha knows has also come from the farm. “The life of an Avenger.” She lets her eyes wander the room, nodding at the colorful lanterns now hanging from the ceiling, the framed photos lining the bookshelf in the corner and the string of decorative lights looped over her bed. Even in the short span of a few days away, Wanda had been steadily adding her own flair to the space via presents that Laura and Clint had been sending her, or by collecting ornaments she had picked up while browsing stores on her days off from training.

“It’s looking better than a few weeks ago.” She offers a smile as she closes the door and Wanda stands slowly.

“I have never had a real room like this before,” she says, reaching up to let her fingers brush the bottom of the paper lantern. “Even in Sokovia, it was me and Pietro and our parents. Our apartment was small. It was hard to make it my own.”

Natasha smiles tightly, wondering if Wanda has ever realized they have more in common than they’d ever openly talk about or admit. “Well.” She glances over the room again. “I’m no interior decorator, but I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job. I mean, it’s no Stark mansion, but I’ll tell you upfront that I hate Tony’s eye for design, anyway -- not that he has any, unless it’s glass or chrome.” She waits for a tentative smile to appear on Wanda’s face and then opens the box from Laura, taking out a banana muffin and carefully tearing it in half.

How are you holding up?”

Wanda accepts a messy half of a muffin, cupping it in her palm to catch the crumbs inherent of a freshly baked homemade treat. “Steve says that I can tell him if I do not feel ready for this, but I think I am okay,” she says after she chews and swallows. “And you will be with us, right?”

“I’ll be there in the field with you,” Natasha confirms. “I have to work, after all. Plus, you’ve got a lot to learn about being a spy.”

“You make it look easy,” Wanda says and Natasha bites back a laugh as her eyes stray to the large window. She eats her own muffin in silence, staring at the photos lining the bulletin board on Wanda’s desk.

“I see you've been getting the photos,” she says lightly, letting her eyes roam over the walls. There are copious pictures of Nathaniel as well as a messy stack of glossies on the table next to her bed. Wanda smiles.

“I enjoy having them here. He looks like Pietro in some pictures. It makes me happy.”

“Wait til you see him in person,” Natasha adds. “He’s adorable and chubby. Clint hates when I call him fat, but he forgets I can only do that and not get yelled at when he’s less than one year old.” She lets her gaze continue to travel; most photos are just the baby on his own but a few include Clint and Laura and there’s at least one or two of Natasha, though Natasha notices that Laura has most likely carefully selected the photos she’s been sending. It wouldn’t turn anyone’s heads if Natasha was included in family pictures, given what they saw at the farm, but she also knows Laura’s probably trying to be discreet when it comes to just _how_ involved Natasha is with their family. The necklace she’s wearing is suddenly a weight against her throat.

“You know, my first time in the field was a disaster,” she says nonchalantly, trying to ignore the ache in her heart that comes with wishing she was back with Clint and Laura at the farm. Wanda looks up in surprise as she sinks back down to the bed, folding her legs underneath her as she finishes off her muffin, brushing her hands against her dress.

“Even with Clint?”

“Of course.” Natasha sits down on the covers next to her, breaking off another piece of her own muffin. “I mean, you’re talking to someone who was used to working on their own and killing for a living without thinking of the consequences. I wanted to change, and I liked Clint, but I didn’t know how the hell to be a SHIELD agent. I made a lot of mistakes. Including a mistake that landed a poor agent in the hospital because I got mad when he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“You hurt him?” Wanda asks interestedly, looking down at her now-free hands which are emitting red sparks. Natasha shrugs, popping the rest of her muffin in her mouth.

“I shot him in the leg. Probably not the teamwork oriented response my boss was looking for. Clint thought it was funny, though.” She finds herself smiling at the memory as she swallows. “He was about the only one that did. Maybe he just knew what was coming for him years down the line when I got pissed off at one of his many dumb dad jokes.”

Wanda gives her a look that reminds Natasha of Laura, if Laura was trying to be serious and Natasha was being flippant with her answer.

“I think sometimes life would be easier if I could use a gun or an arrow,” she says as she lazily flicks a shower of sparks at the window with her fingers. Natasha watches them disappear harmlessly into thin air and Wanda sighs, her eyes following the trail of red. “I can control this now. But it is a part of me that I think will always be unstable, and I am not sure how how I feel about that. Or what will happen if there is a situation that I don’t know how to handle.”

Natasha curls her fingers, which she realizes have been subconsciously reaching towards the other girl in an itch to touch her, an innate mothering trait she’s picked up from being around the farm, a response she’d normally use for a gentle conversation like this if it was Laura or Lila or Cooper, or even Clint.

“You feel like a time bomb,” she says, pushing herself to say the words despite the fact that they make her shudder internally, an image of Banner popping into her mind. Wanda looks up in surprise, and Natasha knows she doesn’t have to elaborate.

“You know, I made a lot of mistakes out of the field, too. Because I couldn’t control myself. I attacked Clint pretty badly. I had nightmares that were violent. I scared his family, at one point. I can control this now,” Natasha continues, gesturing to herself. “The things they did to me when I was young, and the things I came out of the fight with. But there’s a part of me that I think will always be unstable, and I’m not sure how I feel about that, either. I always feel like I might be something that's ready to explode.”

Wanda remains quiet for a long time. “Clint knows. That it’s...that it's still a risk,” she says carefully and Natasha nods.

“Yes.” She hesitates about whether to tell Wanda about Clint’s brainwashing, not knowing how much he’s actually admitted to her about that part of his life, and decides against it. “Laura knows, too. They’ve seen a lot over the years...the good parts of me, and the bad. Clint and I are two sides of the same coin when it comes to understanding what we can and can’t control about each other’s pasts.”

“And Laura?” Wanda eyes Natasha curiously and Natasha lets herself smile again, the mention of Laura’s name sending a warm curl through her belly, one that settles comfortably and pulses like a stoked fire.

“Laura...I think Laura was what Clint saw when he spoke to you in Sokovia,” Natasha says softly, watching Wanda’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Laura was someone who understood that I could be a little dangerous, but was willing to forgive that part of me, and willing to trust someone who believed that I could be something other than what everyone assumed I was.”

“It is funny you say that, because I would have thought he was talking about someone else," Wanda asserts smartly, looking at Natasha with an expression that speaks volumes. Natasha swallows hard, looking down at the covers. She hadn’t been there for the moment in Sokovia, but she knows Clint’s motivational speeches like the back of her hand -- and she knows even without fully realizing the history between Clint and Natasha, Wanda was smart enough to know and appreciate what the closeness of their relationship meant.

“It’s not an isolated incident, I guess,” she says finally, lifting her eyes and looking at one of the photos of Nathaniel. It’s a recent one, Natasha can tell by the amount of hair on his head and the size of his body, and the baby is smiling at the camera in a close-up frame that accentuates his overly chubby cheeks.

“Well.” Wanda shrugs, bringing Natasha’s attention back to the conversation. “They make me feel like I am part of some family, so I guess that is not so bad.”

“No,” Natasha says, putting her hand over Wanda’s palm. She smiles gently, seeing herself reflected in Wanda’s sad eyes. “No, it’s not.”

 

***

 

While Natasha and Steve take the team to Lagos, Clint and Laura remain entrenched in their routines on the farm.

It’s easier than it has been in the past, even with Natasha’s absence every now and again due to training -- Cooper no longer asks when she’s coming home, and Lila doesn’t seem bothered when she has to do a few things without her favorite aunt, even if she's sometimes upset about it in the initial moment. Even with Nate, they’ve established a routine where they’re able to comfortably take care of the baby while attending to their own personal lives without the help of another pair of hands, though Clint also thinks that might just be third kid syndrome at play more than anything else.

“How’s project number eight hundred and seventy-five?” Laura asks when she comes home on a late Friday afternoon while Clint’s in the middle of re-painting part of the living room, the weather-worn section of the wall by the door that's been stained with years of rain and snow and other elements of nature. Clint snorts out a laugh as she takes off her shoes and coat, looking down at the brushes and rollers and the bucket of mustard colored liquid aptly named “Eye Of The Tiger,” per the Benjamin Moore paint sample Cooper had helped select earlier in the week. (Laura had rolled her eyes at the obvious choice, but Clint had insisted Cooper picked out the color before he looked at the name.)

“Getting there. I think.” He steps back and squints at the half-painted wall. “I’ll try to get most of it done later tonight so we don’t have to tarp the entire space over the weekend. How was your session?”

“Not bad.” She flexes her arms easily. “We upped the weight limit on the bars today...I think I’m getting pretty good.”

“Good enough to handle my bow without any help?” Clint asks and Laura shrugs easily.

“Maybe. _Maybe_ even good enough to reach for that pizza box when you push the coffee table too far away from the couch and Natasha falls asleep.”

“Hey, I have many skills,” Clint says, smirking out of the side of his mouth. Laura rolls her eyes.

“Well, you can use some of those skills to figure out what we’re doing for dinner since it’s Friday. I’m taking a shower.” She kisses him and walks up the stairs, and Clint runs his hand over his hair, turning to Cooper and Lila, who are stretched out on the large blanket a few steps away. Nate is sitting up and staring wide-eyed at the scene before him, exhibiting the innocent baby wonderment that Clint remembers seeing in Cooper and Lila.

“Whaddya say, kiddos?” He looks at his kids, making a goofy face at Nate who giggles happily, a thick line of drool dribbling down his chin as Clint scrunches up his eyes. “Pizza? Tacos?”

“Tacos!” Lila exclaims at once. She reaches over to smother her brother in hugs, almost knocking him over as she runs her hands along his small face. Cooper shrugs, turning a page in his book.

“Tacos it is,” Clint declares, getting up and slipping unsteadily on the tarp spread along the floor. He catches himself before he both falls and curses loudly, knowing he doesn’t need another reason for Laura to yell at him -- he’d already made enough mistakes during Lila’s early years to land him in the doghouse for centuries. He doesn't miss Lila’s quiet giggle, though, the one that indicates she probably saw her father being his usual clumsy self, and when he turns around she’s grinning over the pages of her book.

“Do you know what happens to people who make fun of their parents?” Clint asks mischievously, startled out of his thoughts when the house phone starts to ring loudly.

“Crap,” he mutters, struggling to extract himself from the mess in the room. He manages to sidestep the paint cans, narrowly avoiding knocking over rollers and trays as he falters forward, grabbing for the cordless phone just before he knows the call will go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Clint. Did you see the news today?”

“Uh.” Clint glances towards the dark television, his eyes narrowing as his mind words to process Natasha’s random call. “No.” His stomach churns the more he thinks, because he knows Natasha never just casually asks him things like if he’s watched the news, not unless there’s something more pertinent at play. “I just finished painting and I was about to leave to get tacos. Why? And why the hell are you calling? I thought you were still in Lagos.”

Natasha hesitates, her breath catching over the phone. “I am. But never mind. Pick up the food and then call me back. Where’s Laura?”

“Upstairs taking a shower, she just got home from a training session.”

"And the kids?"

"Well, they're not tearing the house down right now, which is a small miracle...Nat, what the hell is going on?”

“I told you,” Natasha says impatiently. “Do your errands and then we'll talk.”

“No,” Clint responds tightly. “No, Nat, you  _know_ I’m not going to be able to give a damn about picking up food if you’re keeping something from me. Which I can tell that you are.”

“Clint. Trust me.” Her voice drops. “You don’t want the kids around when I tell you this.”

Clint’s blood runs cold, his limbs trembling. “Did something happen? Are you hurt? Is the farm in danger, are we okay? Did Wanda --”

“I’m fine. _We’re_ fine,” she corrects, cutting him off. “Clint, The farm is fine, I promise. Nothing's wrong.”

Clint lets out a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding, letting a wave of dizziness settle over him, an innate response he thinks now might never go away after Hydra and Ultron. “Then what -- Wanda?”

Natasha doesn’t answer and Clint’s stomach lurches at the silent confirmation.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Nat, what happened to Wanda?”

“It’s better if I show you,” she says quietly. “Go upstairs and get your laptop.”

Clint looks up at Cooper and Lila, who are both still reading, having gone back to their books. Nate, for his part, is amusing himself by exploring the many plastic toys that have either been chewed, maimed or torn apart by his teething adventures. Clint sticks the phone between his ear and his shoulder and walks over, picking up the baby and putting him back in his bouncer, strapping him in tightly.

“Hey, dad’s gonna put his shoes on and then we’ll all go pick up tacos, okay? Think about what you want to put on them, cause mom’s gonna be hungry when she gets out of the shower.” He funnels his voice into a cheery register indicative of any other Friday night as he straightens, and Lila looks up and nods happily, though Cooper barely makes a show that he’s noticed. Clint doesn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed, given that Cooper was now old enough to be aware of things like his dad mysteriously disappearing to take phone calls that related to work. Clint backs out of the room and walks up the stairs, meeting Laura as she walks towards the bathroom, a bundle of clothes in her arms.

 _Nat_ , he mouths, shaking his head when Laura starts to smile and reach for the phone. Clint waves her off as he walks into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Shoot.”

He pulls his laptop from inside the drawer of Laura’s desk and sits on the bed, hitting a button to boot it up. There’s a long spell of silence on the other end of the line combined with a few clicks that he knows are Natasha’s fingers hitting the keys. Clint waits a moment longer until the notification pops up and then opens the file, his heart rate speeding up when he sees it’s a long video.

It’s a stream of a news report, that much he can tell when the video starts playing; the caption of Lagos, Nigeria is printed in the lower right hand corner. There are people running and sirens blaring; among the filthy dust settling in front of the camera there’s also a flash of Cap’s shield and a shot of Falcon flying overhead as well as a familiar ball of bright red traveling up the side of a large building, like that of a volatile tornado. When the smoke and color clears, there’s a large pile of rubble and a few shots of prone bodies, lifeless faces turned towards the sky as warning sounds continue to wail.

_“The resulting confrontation between the Avengers and a group of mercenaries in Lagos, Nigeria yesterday morning left at least eleven Wakandans dead and more than a dozen injured. Authorities are still trying to confirm if the Avengers had any government issued reason to be in Lagos at the time of the attack, given the amount of damage sustained in the city’s most populated area. Among the more serious concerns are those relating to the enhanced individual known only as Wanda Maximoff. Maximoff partnered with the Avengers after recent events in Sokovia, though it appears that they were unaware of the dangers she presented --”_

Clint hits a button on the video, silencing the practical sounding anchor and freeze-framing the image before him: Wanda with her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with tears and disbelief. It’s a look he hasn’t seen in years, not since Natasha had attacked him and then come out of her violent triggering spells with the same reaction, the very picture of someone shaken to the core after realizing something happened out of their control. Clint clenches his jaw and tries to breathe through the anger coursing through him, unsure if he’s more angry at himself for not being there, at Steve for dragging Wanda out like this, or at Natasha for not obviously helping like she had promised.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Clint bursts out, his voice rising. “You said you’d take care of her! I trusted you! Fucking hell, Nat --”

“Clint.” Natasha’s voice is cold and stoic and screams _shut the hell up_ , and so he does. “Clint, calm down and take a step back, and listen to me. _I don’t know_ , and I mean that. Sam and I were on foot tracking down suspects. We weren’t there for what happened with Crossbones and Steve. I just saw the explosion and the aftermath, and by the time I got there, Wanda...she was…”

“I saw,” Clint says curtly, because he doesn’t think he can hear the words. He closes his eyes against the image of Wanda’s broken face, the display of fear and horror. “What are we going to do?”

“We?” Natasha sounds doubtful.

“Yeah,” Clint says bluntly. “ _We_. I owe her, Nat. Her brother died for me, and now she has no one to help her through this. I should be there, I should talk to her --”

“If you want to talk to her, call her,” says Natasha, breaking in. “But you’re staying home and I’m going to clean up this mess as much as I can. You’re retired, remember?”

“I wasn’t aware being retired put me under house arrest,” Clint spits out and he can almost see Natasha’s eye roll.

“Clint. Listen to me. Even if you were there with her, you couldn’t have helped it.” Her voice turns gentle and soft. “She was unprovoked. She didn’t realize what she was doing, or how powerful she could be when she was angered. She was just trying to protect us. It was a mistake.”

“Yeah, well. Steve put her in the field, isn’t he going to apologize for his _mistakes_?”

“Wanda _wanted_ to be there, Clint. She told me she was ready, and I believed her.” Natasha raises her voice again. “I wouldn’t have pushed her otherwise, and you know that. This could’ve happened anywhere.”

“But it happened _here_ ,” Clint argues. “In a battle, on national television, with the goddamn _Wakandans_ involved, and with everyone watching.” He flops down on the bed and rubs his eyes. “And now she’s going to have to deal with the world thinking she’s a weapon and a monster, when she's just a kid!”

“She’s not a monster, Clint,” Natasha says quietly. “This isn’t Loki.”

“I didn’t say it was Loki!” Clint rages hotly. “Goddammit, Nat, do you really think --”

“ _Clint_.”

He stops, knowing by the tone of her voice he’s going to take it one step too far if he keeps talking. There were a handful of people in the world who could get under his skin enough to make him reconsider the outbursts that happened against his will and aside from his children, Natasha and Laura were two of them.

“Where is she now?”

“At the compound. Everyone flew back this morning. I’m still in Lagos. I’m trying to put out as much political fire as I can, because trust me, no one else is going to be the face of this mess.” Her voice grows more gentle. “Like I said, you might want to call her.”

“Yeah.” He nods to himself as he speaks. “Yeah, I -- thanks.”

He can practically hear Natasha smiling in response. “You’re welcome. I’m coming home after I make sure no one is going to kill us for this. Tell Lila Saturday waffles are on after all.”

Clint manages a smile. “Sure,” he says tightly. “Call me when you’re on your way.”

“I never do,” she says before hanging up and Clint does want to laugh at that, because the perk of Natasha living at the farm now was that she didn’t call to say she was coming home -- she just _did_. It’s a routine no different than how it’s been for years, but the fact that there’s no longer a sense of uncertainty in Natasha’s step when she walks through the door makes all the difference. He puts the phone on the bed and sits up, staring at the laptop again and at the image that hurts his heart, before closing it down.

“Clint?”

Laura opens the door slowly, a towel wrapped tightly around her dark hair with a few loose strands trailing lightly down her neck where droplets of water still pepper her skin. The crease between her eyes becomes more severe the longer she looks at him. “What’s going on?”

Clint holds out his hand, suddenly desperate for comfort and Laura grabs his fingers and lets him pull her down.

“There was a situation in Lagos.”

“Natasha?” Laura jerks away, her eyes wide and frightened as they search his face, and the look reminds Clint so much of Wanda that it makes him want to scream. “Is she okay?”

Clint nods, pulling Laura close again. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s fine. I think. Probably knocked around a bit, but you know, she’ll be okay. Wanda...something went wrong.” He feels Laura tense in his grip but she doesn’t move aside from burrowing more deeply into his hold.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, feeling defeated because it’s only half a lie. He knows enough from the reports to know she had, however accidentally, caused ruin and death. But he doesn’t know what had caused her to use her powers so strongly, or what other issues might have been at play in her head. “There was an explosion...whatever happened, it wasn't good."

Laura's breath catches in her throat and she pulls away again, her eyes harboring fear. "I saw the news report, while I was at the gym. Something about Lagos. They referenced...they didn't say what happened because they didn't have information, but the burning building, the thing they said was a bomb -- that was her?"

Clint remains quiet, largely because he's never told Laura the full extent of Wanda's powers. It hadn't been because he didn't think Laura would believe him -- he'd fought aliens and robots and she'd seen enough of his team to know miracles existed -- but because he hadn't wanted this, the fear Laura would worry that another harmful person was going to walk into their life, even if she trusted them.

"Yeah," he admits. "But I don't know what happened. All I know is that she messed up and she’s scared. Everyone is scared.” _Of her._ He doesn't say the words out loud because it feels too much like Natasha all over again, only this time, the entire world knew rather than a secret organization of 400-something employees. Laura remains quiet and lets her wet hair press against his shirt.

“What are you going to do?”

He’s unsure whether to laugh because Laura knows exactly where his mind is going, or whether to laugh because he’s out of his element entirely, being both retired and away from the fight. “I don’t know,” he repeats helplessly. “Call her, I guess. Let her know that I’ve got her back, even if I’m not there.”

Laura nods and sits up. “Do you want her to come here?”

Clint closes his eyes at her words. He can’t lie about the fact that he does, but he also knows if he asks, he’s being more than a little selfish. “I shouldn’t,” he admits tiredly. “We’re still...Cooper’s so busy with school and Nate doesn’t sleep, and we’re still trying to figure out what the hell we all _are_ , and Lila’s adjusting to Natasha as her real mom, and…”

“And?” Laura asks gently, stroking his hair. “You’re being uncharacteristically hesitant for someone who has spent their life putting people they care about first, even at the expense of others.”

Clint feels a stab of guilt at her words, at the memories that roll through his mind: lying to Laura about the beginnings of his partnership with Natasha, skirting over Natasha’s past to protect her, leaving Natasha in the middle of a mission to fly home to Cooper when he broke his leg unexpectedly.

“I don’t want to be selfish,” he admits. “I don’t want you to feel like this place is some trauma center where I bring in all the people I try to help. But she’s alone, and she’s…”

“She’s family,” Laura interjects when Clint trails off. “In a way. I know, Clint. Why do you think we named Nate after her brother? Why do you think I was okay with that?”

Clint finds he can’t answer and Laura nurses the phone back into Clint’s hand.

“I love you, and I love you for everything that you are,” she reminds him, kissing his cheek. “Always remember that.” Laura gets up and heads back to the bathroom to dry her hair and Clint stares at the phone in his hand, moving his thumb over the top keys, punching in a number he knows by heart.

“Hey,” he says when Natasha picks up again. “It’s me. Listen, uh. Just wondering. Do you think there’s going to be any downtime with this whole Lagos situation?”

“Depends,” Natasha answers distractedly. “I think it’s going to take at least a few weeks for the dust to settle. I can’t imagine we’ll do any big missions in the meantime, given how high profile this has become. It’s likely Steve’s going to have to put out some fires of his own before we even have a chance of going back into the field.” She pauses. “Why?”

Clint twists his fingers together after sticking the phone underneath his ear. “Because. I talked to Laura, and I want you to make a stop at the compound after you finish in Lagos, pick up Wanda on the way home.”

Natasha lets the conversation fall into silence and Clint lets his trained sniper ears pick up on the commotion in the background. There’s murmured talking and a few faint honks from traffic which allow him to assume she’s somewhere inside, possibly in a hotel or a restaurant, somewhere where she can sneak away and make a more personal call without being bothered.

“Are you sure?”

“I brought you here when you needed a home, didn’t I?”

“And look how well that worked out,” Natasha responds sarcastically. “I’m serious, Clint. Do you really think it’ll help?”

Clint chews on his lip. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I do. I told her after Ultron that she always had a place here with me...with my family. What good am I if I can’t follow through on that promise? Plus, I want to get her away from everything at the compound. She needs normalcy. She needs to be outside of the situation, in a place where she can relax without worrying someone is going to come after her.”

Natasha’s quiet for a long time again and now Clint can definitely hear the garbled background noise of people ordering food and drink. A cafe, then, and likely one where Natasha was sitting away from the crowds, nursing a cup of black coffee, because it was the closest thing to normalcy she could get when she was feeling alone.

“Okay,” she says finally in a voice that he knows means she’s not going to argue with him. “If you and Laura are sure, I’ll bring her home.”

“What about you?” Clint asks, glancing up to make sure he’s still alone. “You’re a part of this family, too. You get to have a say in this.”

“You’re asking _me_ if I’m sure?” Natasha asks in a tone that clearly asks if Clint wants her to elaborate. He cringes but then Natasha’s voice softens, her words evening out in a measure of simple understanding brought on by years of trying to find her own place in the world.

“Yes, Clint. I’m sure. Let’s bring Wanda home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [intrikate88](http://intrikate88.tumblr.com) for reading parts of this chapter and for beta help and thoughts. 
> 
> The necklace Laura gives Natasha is [the new necklace Natasha is seen wearing in Civil War.](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2015/11/25/07/2EC9EC5200000578-3333050-image-m-22_1448436612845.jpg)


	3. Chapter 3

There are few things Natasha hates more than public attention.

Up until she had met Clint, her whole life had been shrouded and grounded in secrecy -- make your mark quietly, engage undercover, stay out of the limelight. (She’d laughed at the people who were surprised when she mouthed off as much as she did on Capitol Hill two years ago, because they’d had _no idea_ that this was the kind of thing Natasha had spent her life immersed in -- only she had been immersed in it while watching from the shadows, because making any kind of noise would have meant certain death.)

As an Avenger, she’d gotten used to being in the public eye more often than not, especially after New York. It was never anything she particularly liked; she knew Clint hated it even more due to his worry about his family, but she also understood that it came with the territory and had grudgingly accepted that fact. Still, she’d never been overly envious of Pepper, who had dealt upfront with Tony’s mistakes during Natasha’s time at Stark Industries, or even Fury, who had dealt with putting out fires while Natasha remained largely behind the scenes, quietly cleaning up messes via file sharing and a few strongly worded, well-written emails. And while she’d never been a proponent of “run and hide,” Tony taking the brunt of Ultron’s destruction and Natasha’s retreat to the farm afterwards was a welcome reprieve that reminded her of just how much she enjoyed getting out of the responsibility limelight.

 _And now I’m meeting with the Dora Milaje_ , she thinks wryly as she twists her hands together in her lap, a rare show of nervousness. She doesn’t know if it was fate or irony that had intervened when she had contacted a few public officials in Lagos in hopes of appealing to them about their destroyed city, only to find out that along with the Wakandans who had been there on their outreach mission, there had also been a Dora Milaje present: Okoye, who Natasha had enough knowledge of to know that she served close to T'Challa, the Wakandan king's son. Even more surprising to Natasha was the fact that Okoye had accepted a meeting with her almost immediately after Natasha had made the request.

“Miss Romanova.”

Natasha looks up as a dark-skinned woman dressed in a sleek blue dress approaches where she’s made herself comfortable on a bench outside the Omenka Gallery, which is bustling with throngs of afternoon tourists.

“It's Romanoff, actually,” she says as she rises with an outstretched hand, meeting the woman’s stoic face with a smile. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

“I do not normally make time to meet with Black Widows. But then again, Black Widows normally do not reach out with specific apologies.” Okoye sits down on the bench and Natasha follows suit, keeping herself as poised as possible. “You are different.”

“I…” Natasha realizes she doesn’t quite know how to respond to her words, because part of her wants to agree and another part of her feels like it would be a lie to do so. “I apologize for what happened in Lagos,” she begins quietly. “We never meant to come here and cause death or harm. Especially not to those from your country who were caught in the crossfire by accident.”

“Your sympathy is appreciated,” Okoye says, her tone colored with what Natasha recognizes as a thinly veiled warning. “But it does not mean that we will forget your missteps so easily, even if they were mistakes. We strive to protect our world, and it is a world that is dangerous enough without fighters and soldiers of supernatural means.”

“I know that Wanda Maximoff looks like a threat,” Natasha says, gazing into the distance, focusing on the cheerily blue sky that reminds her of Lila's pillow. “I can promise you that she’s not a weapon. She’s a child who has a power she can’t fully control.”

“Like your kind, I suppose,” Okoye says cryptically and Natasha closes her eyes against the words.

“No,” she answers, opening her eyes. “Black Widows have always known how to kill, even if we were sloppy about it.” She can't control the shudder that comes with saying the words out loud. “Wanda Maximoff never intended to use her powers for evil. She was trying to protect a teammate.”

“Some would say the same about the Black Widows,” Okoye says smoothly, eyeing her. “But as much as I would enjoy besting you a fight, I did not come here to remind you about a history that you know cannot be undone.”

“You’re the most accomplished fighting team the world has ever seen,” Natasha responds automatically. “Believe me. My sisters did not think fighting you was a joke.”

Okoye raises her chin slightly and focuses on the tourists milling around in front of them. “And you? You were young, then.”

Natasha nods. “I was ten,” she acknowledges, following her gaze and fixating on a young girl with a pink bow nestled in her dark hair. “I was left alone in the Red Room at the time. I was not among those you fought, when you fought against my kind. But I know war, now.”

“Do you, Miss Romanoff?”

Natasha thinks for a moment Okoye has granted her with a question  _not_ rooted in judgement, but when she blinks again, the expressionless face is back.

“War for me hasn’t been about battles I can’t win,” Natasha says after a long pause. “And it hasn’t been about beating the best fighters and having blood on my hands to show for it. It’s been about almost losing the people I love most in the world. People who I would protect with my life the same way you would protect your country, and your king. Now that I know that and understand that, I can respect your actions.”

Okoye ruminates on her words for another long moment. “This girl. Wanda Maximoff. She is protected.”

“She will be,” Natasha says, thinking of Clint and Laura. “We all have people we protect and care about. We don’t want to cause you or anyone else trouble. But we do want to keep the world safe.” She watches as Okoye gets up, and Natasha finds herself marveling at how regal she holds herself. Despite the fact that she can clearly remember all of her training from the Red Room, Natasha knows the learned properness of Wakanda's best is something she'll never be able to replicate.

“You think you have seen war, Miss Romanoff. But war is not just about protecting those you love. War is about the sacrifices you make to uphold those protections. Tread carefully if you choose to keep the world safe with these people. It may not always be as simple as an apology on a bench.”

Natasha watches Okoye leave and tries to ignore the pit in her stomach, the fear that rises up inside of her and refuses to back down. She spends the next day fielding phone calls and visiting legal offices, while Okoye's words play over and over in her brain, and by the time she returns to New York, she feels as exhausted as she knows she looks. Her head hurts, her heart hurts, and all she wants to do is go home and sleep in her own bed, preferably with Clint’s cuddles and Laura’s massages as her reward. But she knows she has at least one more job to do, and so she forces her mind and body to remain alert and active as she flies back to the compound, surprising Steve when she walks in the door.

“I thought you were still in Lagos,” he says, looking up from the couch after Natasha hands him a file. A newspaper is half open on the table along with a tablet, both of which Natasha knows he’s definitely not bothering to really pay attention to.

“It's handled,” Natasha says. “Mostly. There's still a lot of red tape to get through, but you should be able to take care of anything that comes up."

Steve nods, glancing at the thick folder before giving her a half-smile. "Thanks, Romanoff. I owe you one."

"Put it on my tab," she says, returning the smile as much as she can. Steve chuckles quietly.

"Fair enough. Does that mean you're staying?"

Natasha shakes her head. "No. I'm leaving for awhile. And I'm taking Wanda with me, to see Clint."

Steve stands abruptly, almost tripping over himself. “Can I ask why?”

Natasha takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “Because it’s what I need to do, and because it’s where she needs to be.” She drops her voice to a low register. “You know what happened in the field. Clint wants to help her, and I think having her visit the farm will be a good thing.”

“So I’m going to lose my only rational voice on this team for weeks on end again?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re not going to be able to reach me if you need me,” Natasha scoffs. “And let’s face it, no one’s going to be coming or going for awhile, anyway. I can travel all over Lagos, but I can’t clean up messes as well as Stark can.”

Steve doesn’t respond to that and Natasha finds herself staring at him with a face that she knows isn’t entirely masked; they’re past that now and they’ve been past that for years. Natasha had no problem going toe-to-toe with any of her teammates at this point, but Steve was the only one aside from Clint that she felt like she could be completely open with and she doesn’t take the evolution of their friendship for granted.

“Remember when we started working together?” Steve asks when he finally speaks again, making two small fists and putting them on the table as he leans forward. Natasha smiles wryly.

“We both went to Fury and asked to be re-assigned within minutes of getting the news.”

“I hated that I had to work with you.”

“And I hated that I had to work with you,” Natasha responds, feeling a little lighter as she remembers the moment when he had accepted her invitation to go out and be social after all; they had stayed out until two in the morning knocking back well drinks at a seedy bar in Dupont Circle while letting down their guards without realizing it while trading stories about the surface of their pasts. “Let her have this break, Steve. Please. I don’t want her to be here alone.”

“She’s not alone,” Steve defends, waving his hands around. “Vision’s here and Sam’s here, and I’m here.”

Natasha smiles sadly. “If it was me, I would still feel alone,” she says pointedly, hoping that the quiet truth will help get her point across, because Clint’s not here to make the case for himself like he should be. Steve bows his head.

“Fine. I want her to be safe and if you think the best thing is bringing her to Barton, then you should bring her to Barton. But if she comes back with baby food on her clothes, I’m going to blame you.”

Natasha snorts quietly. “Fair enough,” she agrees with a wink, turning and walking down the long hallway. When she gets to Wanda’s room, she opens the door just as the other girl jumps back, a guilty look washing over her face. Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“You heard all that.”

Wanda bites her lip and nods shyly. “I do appreciate that you do not want me to be alone.”

Natasha sighs, closing the door behind her. “Laura and Clint really do want you to come visit them,” she says, glancing around the room. “And anyway, it’s long past time you met Nathaniel. You know, as a real person and not as a photograph.”

Wanda plays with her hair and then showers red sparks at the bed. “It is to get me away from here?”

“Yes,” Natasha says, because she doesn’t think she can look at Wanda, at someone who reminds her so much of herself, and lie outright at this point. “But it’s also what Clint would have done for me. If something happened, and if he was worried about me, he would have let me come home, so that I didn’t have to feel like I was alone.”

“You are like my brother,” Wanda says thoughtfully, sitting down and putting her chin in her hands. “You and Clint.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “Why? Because we’re close?”

“No,” says Wanda. “I know that you are close. But you would protect him, right?”

“Of course,” Natasha responds without even bothering to think about the answer. Wanda nods knowingly.

“When I chose to stay with the core, to protect it in Sokovia, Pietro tried to stay with me, too. I told him that he had to leave and go help everyone else...I told him that I could take care of myself. It was my job and it was my choice. He still wanted to protect me, though.”

“He was your brother. He loved you,” Natasha offers a little helplessly and Wanda smiles.

“I know he did. He loved me the way Clint loves you.”

Natasha finds that she doesn't know what to say to that. She knows Wanda's aware that their relationship is more than what they project to their team, but at the same time, it feels strange to confirm her words knowing that Wanda will soon see a happy, loving family; Clint as a dedicated husband and father, Laura as the picture-perfect image of a superhero's wife -- an image that Natasha still laughs at when she thinks about it, because while part of her knows Laura’s a superhero on another level, she also knows that she’s far from perfect.

“Come on,” Natasha says after another spell of silence. “I’ll let you pack and then we should get out of here. I promised his daughter I'd make Saturday waffles, if I could. And by the way, we’re taking some normal travel home -- I'd apologize for the fact we'll probably have to get an annoying connecting flight from here to Des Moines, but I think you’ve had enough of traveling around in a quinjet for awhile, right?”

Wanda smiles gratefully, and Natasha smiles back.

 

***

 

Saturday morning at the farm dawns bright and fresh, barn owls signaling their early morning rise with vigor while cool fall air swirls through the open bedroom window, bringing with it a sweet mix of wet foliage from the previous day's rain. In the far distance, a train whistle blows faintly, the freight cars that Laura knows rumble through town every so often carrying goods and products from nearby farms, and a rooster crows somewhere from the next house over. Laura lets herself drift into consciousness by taking in the sounds and the quiet of the house with her eyes closed, until Clint leans over and kisses her awake, his goatee scratching against her face and forcing her eyes open.

“I was up, you know,” she says with a smile as he removes his lips from her mouth.

“I know,” Clint says, lying back on his pillow. “But every so often I like to remember what it's like to actually _have_ moments to ourselves in the morning. And I’m not talking about Natasha.”

“ _You’re_ the one who wanted to have more kids,” she reminds him with a lazy grin. “Besides, at least they’re getting old enough to take care of themselves for awhile.”

“Yeah, remember when Cooper threw a baseball into the basement window because he was amusing himself too much while we were having morning sex?” Clint asks sarcastically and Laura sighs.

“That was one time, Clint. For someone who was the epitome of a demon child as a baby, he’s turned into a pretty mild-mannered kid. As long as he’s not tapping into your temper.” She pulls herself up, wiping residual sleep out of her eyes. “Nat’s coming home today?”

Clint nods, following her lead and pushing his back up against the headboard. “Yeah. They’re flying into Des Moines, I think their plane gets in sometime after ten. They’ll get a cab to the farm after. Nat didn’t want to make Wanda fly in a quinjet or anything, after what happened in Lagos.”

Laura stays silent, taking his hand underneath the covers. “I’m glad you’re doing this,” she says softly. “Even if it only turns out to be for a few days. You’re a good father, Clint.”

“I’m _not_ her father,” he retorts and Laura snorts.

“Are you sure? We could always draw up some adoption papers along with the papers about polygamy that I plan to submit to the court at some point. I made a very convincing note about this place being a ranch.”

“Knock it off,” Clint mutters, shooting her a glare. “I told you, I’m not her father.”

“But you’re _their_ father.” She nods towards the direction of Cooper and Lila’s bedroom. “And because you’re a good father, you’re able to be the person she needs when she’s in trouble. And that’s enough.” She tightens her grip on his palm and then kisses him again, licking a spot on his cheek. “Come on. If you start breakfast, I’ll take care of Nate.”

“Compromises that don’t include getting spit up on or screamed at before eight in the morning? Yes, ma’am.” Clint leans over for another kiss and then Laura rolls out of bed, changing into baggy sweatpants and one of Clint’s old shirts. She stops in front of the dresser and opens the jewelry box slowly, staring at Natasha’s ring, which is sitting pristinely in a separate holder, away from the clutter that takes up residence in the small space. Laura smiles sadly and then closes the box with a small sigh; with Wanda being at the farm it meant that Natasha wasn't going to be taking it back fully, at least for now.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Laura sings softly, walking into Nathaniel’s room and peering over the crib. Her son is awake but mostly quiet, having pulled himself onto his stomach.

"Ha-fe-le-ga!" Nate babbles happily, and Laura sweeps a hand over his light hair, which is becoming more and more prominent every day.

“You’ll never know how much I love you,” Laura continues singing as she picks him up, blowing small raspberries onto his arm before kissing him on the cheek. Nate giggles in response and presses his head into Laura’s chest as she reaches over to open the window, breathing in the cool air indicative of fall.

“Someone’s feeling like a cuddle monster this morning, huh?” Laura asks, checking his diaper and then laying him down on top of the dresser. “You know, your sister liked to cuddle, too. Your brother just screamed a lot.” She changes him quickly and thankfully, with little issue, before bringing him downstairs. Lila is standing at the kitchen counter with Clint, her feet placed precariously on a step-stool with Clint positioned behind her, one protective hand on her back as she stirs batter slowly.

“I see Saturday waffles are in progress,” Laura remarks as she shifts Nate in her arms. Lila turns around and grins at her mom, steadied by Clint's arm.

“Morning, mommy! Morning, Tasha-Nate!”

“Good morning, Lila baby.” Laura walks over and kisses her daughter, who makes it a point to kiss the baby on the head as well before dropping the spatula in the bowl and putting small hands around Nate's body, hugging him a little too tightly. “Where’s your other brother?”

Clint swivels his head. “Outside. I said he could try to do the morning chores on his own today.”

Laura nods and shifts Nate to one arm as she walks back through the living room, opening the front door and basking in fresh pine and morning sun, zeroing in on Cooper walking towards the porch with an armful of dirty twigs.

“You picked up all the branches?” Laura asks as Cooper stops in front of her and deposits them into a large blue bucket by the porch.

“Yeah. And I raked the leaves, by the tree. And watered the flowers, like dad told me to,” Cooper says, motioning to the lawn and the small garden by the front of the house. Laura smiles as Nate pulls on her hair, tugging her head to the side.

“Thank you, Coop.”

“Can we get a dog? If I prove I can do chores every day?”

“Every _weekend_ ,” Laura corrects as Cooper climbs the steps. “Unless you’re getting up at five in the morning before school to rake leaves, like your dad.” When Cooper makes a face, Laura hides another grin. “I thought so. As for the pet, we’ll think about it, okay? You know we’re still settling in with Natasha.”

“Yeah,” Cooper says, though his voice sounds skeptical and Laura figures she can’t blame him. To Cooper, Natasha finally living at the house simply meant that Natasha was a part of their family in a way that didn’t involve her leaving so often. Laura knows it’s not entirely fair to blame years of trial and error and emotional compromise on her children when they didn’t have to deal with the hang-ups that their parents did, but she also knows she’s responsible, in some part, for making sure this marriage and relationship continues to last.

“Hey.” Laura holds out her free arm. “Come here.”

Cooper looks a little wary but edges closer to his mother and Laura circles her arm around her son, brushing back his hair. “You’re making me really proud, you know that?”

“Because of Natasha?” Cooper asks suspiciously. Laura nods.

“Yes. But you’ve also been taking more responsibility around the house, and your teachers told me you’re doing really well in the Resource Room. And you’ve been a good big brother, and I think it’s important you knew that.”

Cooper glances up with a face half hidden in Laura’s shirt and Laura can’t help but smile. Despite being nearly thirteen, it’s more than easy for her to see her little boy, the babyfaced child who lived in a fantasy world, who read too much and who loved sports too much and who was still, in every way, shy and quiet and sensitive and so unlike every other middle schooler his age.

“Thanks,” Cooper says, smiling back as Nate squeals, distracted by a chipmunk that's hopped up onto the porch. Laura fights against her squirming son and nods towards the house.

“Go upstairs and wash yourself up, okay? Dad’s got breakfast almost ready.”

Cooper trots back inside and Laura manages to settle Nate again with soft whispering, closing the door on autumn wind. She basks in the scent of fresh blueberries and strong coffee and by the time Cooper’s changed and washed his hands and face, Laura’s settled Nate in his high chair with tiny pieces of waffle. Clint puts a few tall glasses on the table as Lila climbs onto her chair.

“Nat said she’d be home for waffles,” Lila says as Laura pours her and Clint two large mugs of coffee. “And it’s waffles day!”

“It is,” Clint agrees, cutting up her breakfast on a worn, plastic Mickey Mouse plate. “Natasha’s plane will be here soon. And guess what?” He glances at Laura who nods slowly, reading the expression on his face with an ease and speed that she’d laugh about if she didn’t know it was because she’d been married to him for over fifteen years. “We’re going to have a friend staying here, along with Aunt Nat.”

Lila and Cooper both look up with interest. “Who?” Cooper asks as Laura hands him the syrup.

“Wanda.” Clint smiles. “She’s coming here from New York.”

“Will she play Barbies with me?” Lila asks excitedly, bouncing in her chair. Laura smiles.

“Maybe,” she answers and Cooper grabs two waffles, devouring half of one in a large bite. “Will you _share_ your Barbies with her?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Lila responds coyly, an answer that’s all Natasha, and Laura bites back a laugh as Clint hands Lila her plate.

“How long is she gonna stay?”

“No speaking with your mouth full,” Laura admonishes Cooper. “You know better. And we’re not sure yet. Maybe a few weeks. You’ll have to show her around now that you’re old enough to be a good host.”

“Maybe you can show her your bow,” Clint interjects. “She’d love to see how good you’ve gotten at fixing it.”

Cooper shrugs and Lila bounces in her seat again, grabbing for her juice. “I wanna make a sign for when Tasha comes home,” she says as Nate slams a small fist on the tray of his high chair and then spits up all over his shirt. Laura sighs as Lila laughs loudly.

“You are just like your Aunt Nat, you know that?”

“I know. Aunt Nat thinks Nate spitting out food is funny, too!”

“Yeah, and she also thinks it’s funny when she shoots you,” Clint mutters under his breath as Laura chokes back a laugh and gets up to grab another napkin. Two hours later, when breakfast is over and the kitchen is on its way to being somewhat clean again thanks to a quick bout of swiffering (what Laura swears will always be the best invention when it comes to having a house full of children who routinely drop food on the ground), Natasha texts Laura with two smiley face emojis and the alert that her and Wanda are a few miles out from the farm. Clint’s in the basement with Cooper, having recruited his son to help him cut some more wood for the treehouse, and has brought Nate down his bouncer. Laura helps Lila string her homemade sign across the couch with two ribbons before settling in to read with her daughter on the front porch, until Lila’s squirming out of her grasp at the sound of a coughing engine ambling its way onto the farm's dirty path.

“Tasha’s back!”

Laura manages to hold onto her daughter long enough so that she doesn’t tear across the lawn in her usual manner of welcoming Natasha home, knowing that it’s probably not the greatest idea with Wanda in tow. By the time Natasha’s paid the cab driver and is walking towards the house with Wanda trailing behind, however, Lila’s torn herself from Laura’s arms in a lost battle.

"Tasha!"

“Hi, Lila baby.” Natasha picks up Lila, who practically barrels into her legs before burying her face in her hair, and Laura watches the stress and tension tumble out of Natasha’s body in waves, like the exorcism of a demon's spirit. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” Lila announces, wrapping her arms around her neck. Natasha kisses her and then turns around, nodding at Wanda.

“Wanda, this is Lila. Lila, this is daddy’s friend, Wanda. Can you say hi to Wanda?”

Lila falls silent and stares blankly, becoming suddenly mute. Natasha nudges her gently with her chin as she sticks her thumb in her mouth.

“Hey. Come on, silly girl. Are you being shy now?”

Lila presses her face into Natasha’s neck in response and pulls hair over her eyes with her other hand.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says apologetically. “She’s quiet, but she’s also usually unable to stop talking. She’ll warm up, eventually.”

“I understand,” Wanda says softly and Laura reaches both of them just in time to see Wanda’s gaze find the ground. She finds herself unsure of what to say to the girl who she knows but doesn’t really know; she’s taken care of Wanda from a distance for so long that she almost forgets she’s never actually met the girl whose brother saved her husband’s life.

“Thank you for all the things you’ve sent me,” Wanda says as Natasha starts to walk towards the house, leaving Laura alone. “I love seeing all the pictures of Nathaniel. I appreciate it so much.”

“Of course,” Laura says, figuring that alone gives her enough permission to hug her newest houseguest. Wanda stiffens a little unnaturally, as if she’s not used to someone being so gentle with her, and Laura finds herself thinking of Lagos as she loosens her grip.

“Come inside.” Laura gestures towards the house. “Clint’s just finishing up a few things downstairs, but he’ll be glad to see you.”

“I will be glad to see him too,” says Wanda with a small smile. Laura picks up her bag and leads Wanda into the living room, where Natasha is sitting with Lila and examining her homemade sign. The little girl is talking animatedly, all traces of her shyness having apparently abated, and Laura doesn’t miss Wanda’s wistful look that reminds her so much of the way Natasha looked at Clint the first time she came home and saw him interact with his son.

“I’ll give you a real tour later,” Laura says, guiding Wanda away from the scene and up the stairs. “I’ll warn you that the house is a bit of a mess, thanks to having a newborn. Ever since Clint brought the team here though, I’ve been surprisingly laid back when it comes to keeping up appearances. And this home has never been perfect, anyway.” She motions for Wanda to follow her down the hall, past the master bedroom and bathroom and Cooper and Lila’s room.

“You can sleep in here,” Laura says, opening the door to Natasha’s old room. “I’m sorry it’s a bit cluttered. It hasn’t been used as a real guest bedroom in years. We’ve been using it for Nathaniel, but we moved the crib to our room for now because we didn’t think it was fair to make you sleep with a six month old.” Laura smiles. “It’s a little crowded, but we’re three kids in and we currently use the dresser as a changing table, so it’s not like we’re totally out of our element. We’ll make it work.”

Wanda looks a little more comfortable the more Laura talks. “My family always slept close to each other, in Sokovia. We had a small apartment, so that was why. But Pietro and I always shared a room, even when we were old enough to probably sleep by ourselves. Sometimes, it felt like it was better to be close.”

“Cooper and Lila are down the hall,” Laura shares. “We’ve since realized it’s probably a little unorthodox to have a twelve-year-old and a five-year-old sharing a room given their age difference, but Coop’s been good about it and Lila’s easy enough to get along with. Bedtime’s becoming a bit of a struggle, though, since she needs to go to sleep a lot earlier than he does. This --” She breaks off, waving her hand around and indicating the space. “This is going to be Cooper’s own room, eventually. Clint was supposed to make it a top priority in retirement, but other things came up around the house that needed his attention, and he hasn’t had time to properly work on it. We keep joking we should just put our son in the attic for now, since he’s developed Clint’s fondness for climbing things and then falling off them.”

Wanda laughs at that and Laura puts her hand on her shoulder. “I know you’ve been getting the things we’ve been sending you,” she continues gently. “But I know Clint told you that you could think of this place as your home. And when you’re here with us, I’d also like you to think of it that way.”

Wanda finds Laura’s eyes and she nods, her face filled with relief and gratitude. “Thank you,” she says softly as footsteps start to pattern the creaking floors. Laura turns around as Clint pushes open the door all the way, his suntanned face relaxing into an easy, relieved smile when he meets Wanda’s eyes.

“Hey, kid. You made it.”

He holds out his arms and brings Wanda in for a hug, and Laura wisely edges out of the room, closing the door behind her.

 

***

 

Wanda’s first real introduction to Nathaniel Pietro Barton is after a late lunch, when Clint finds her standing in their bedroom and staring at the crib that holds the baby who has just woken up from his nap. He’s come upstairs to change and is at first surprised to find her there, before he remembers how Natasha often found her way into their bedroom when she felt vulnerable or out of sorts. Wanda wasn’t looking for comfort in the same way Natasha had been at the time, he knows. But she _was_ looking for belonging, and that, at least, was something Clint could give her.

“You know, you can hold him, if you want.”

Wanda looks up at Clint, startled by his entrance, and shakes her head. “No. I’m going to --”

“Why?”

“What?” Wanda looks utterly confused and Clint gestures towards the crib.

“Why?” he repeats simply, his voice unwavering. Wanda’s eyes fill with an emotion Clint can only describe as overwhelming and uncontrollable fear.

“I will hurt him.” As if to prove her point, she moves her fingers, emitting an energy surge that produces a shower of faint red sparks.

“Try again,” Clint says, crossing his arms unsympathetically. “Because from where I stand, Wanda, I don’t see a weapon or a dangerous person, or anything that those news reports say you are. I see a friend and a teammate and someone who I trust with my life. Certainly someone who I trust enough to hold my own child.”

Wanda breathes in and out slowly, as if trying to stave off an anxiety attack, and Clint watches her chest rise and fall with anticipation.

“I cannot control it.”

“No,” Clint says matter-of-factly. “You can’t control it, Wanda. Not yet. And I can help you with that. But the thing is, control starts with you trusting yourself. If you want to conquer that fear, you tell it to go shove itself. If you don’t want to conquer that fear, you sit in your room and pretend it doesn't exist, and then you stay scared your whole life and no one knows how to help you.”

Wanda bites down on her lip, looking for all the world like a lost child. “Do you tell your kids that?”

“What, that their fear can go shove itself? Nah, I’m usually a little more diplomatic with my pep talks, mostly because I know Laura would mace me if I ever used those exact words.” He picks up Nate, who has started to laugh quietly.

“Ya-ba!”

“Yeah. I agree, buddy. One day you’ll say a real word, but for now, we’ll just pretend you agree with daddy about everything.” Clint turns around and stares at Wanda, nodding towards the baby. “Well?”

Wanda clenches her fingers and then takes a deep breath, raising her head higher. “I want to tell the fear to go shove itself.”

Clint hides a laugh. “That’s the Barton pep talk spirit,” he says as he passes the baby to Wanda, who still looks scared but accepts him in her arms. Wanda cradles Nate gently and rocks him back and forth, and in a flash of clear memory, Clint sees Natasha and Lila: another girl without a real family, who was being brought into one thanks to the love of a child, and all because someone cared about her enough to give her a chance to try to love someone else.

“He’s beautiful,” Wanda whispers as she stares at Nate's tiny features. “And perfect.”

“And he cries a lot, and he poops a lot, and he pees in your face when you’re not looking,” Clint interjects. “You should ask Natasha about that last one.” He wonders if he should be so flippant given Wanda’s hesitancy, but the response has its desired effect and Wanda breaks into a smile and a short laugh, easing the mood belied by her features.

“He is still perfect.”

“Well, we like to think so,” Clint boasts. “Good news is, he’s in that stage where he likes to keep himself occupied by exploring everything when he can’t even speak. It’s kind of amazing, you know? To see a baby like that. Makes you realize how cool the world really is.”

Wanda doesn’t respond, still staring down at Nate. The baby is babbling softly, the noise the only other sound in the room aside from the rumble of the washing machine Laura’s started, which is vibrating against the floor.

“Anyway.” Clint clears his throat. “You’ll probably get to hang out with him a lot while you’re here. I mean, if you want.”

“Yes," Wanda says with another smile as she bounces Nate up and down, making the baby laugh more. "I would like that."

Clint watches her face change, the look of hesitancy softening into an expression of comfort, and puts his arm around Wanda's shoulders.

 

***

 

The following morning dawns cold and misty, sprinkles of light rain settling on the farm along with a dreariness that blankets the house in a chilly dome. The gutter creaks and groans, forcing Clint out of bed and into the damp weather before Nathaniel even starts his daily babbling. When he finds water trailing brokenly from the top of the ornate overhang down onto the porch, he’s also forced out for mandatory errands at Home Depot; he skulks out of the kitchen and then out the door funneling coffee down his throat from an oversized travel mug amidst grumbling and expletives.

Cooper’s weekly soccer practice is cancelled but Natasha elects to take him along with her while she grocery shops, after dropping off Nate for a visit with Laura's mom. Wanda, Laura and Lila are left alone in the house and with some semblance of peace and quiet, Laura serves Wanda coffee and leftover homemade oatmeal from her mother’s latest visit. Lila sits across from her and shoves granola laden with chocolate chips into her mouth.

“Why do you wear those?”

Laura, who has been puttering around the kitchen looking for baking equipment that she swears Clint has misplaced yet _again_ , looks up as Lila leans forward expectantly, curiosity about their newest guest sufficiently piqued.

“I like having things on my hands,” Wanda responds, putting down her spoon. “It make me feel safe.”

“Mommy wears rings,” Lila says, perking up. “On her fingers. She says it’s because she loves daddy. And Tasha wears rings, too!”

Wanda smiles back at Lila. “Sometimes people wear rings for different reasons,” She twists a silver band in the shape of a star off her thumb. “This one was from my parents,” she explains, handing it over. “My own mother gave it to me, when I was a little girl, because I liked watching the stars at night from my bedroom window.”

“What are your other rings?” Lila asks, getting up and dragging her chair across the floor so that she’s closer to Wanda. Wanda takes another band off her pointer finger, a golden one that houses a dark hollow stone in the center.

“This one, my brother gave to me when I was scared,” she says softly. “He bought it for me at the market near where we lived and said if I wore it, it would stop all my bad dreams.”

“Mommy gave me a ring to wear, too!” Lila slides off of the chair and runs into the sun room, emerging with a green plastic band representative of the toys that are stuck in cereal boxes. “She said I could wear it and pretend to have pretty things, like her.”

“It is very nice,” Wanda acknowledges as Lila drops the ring into her lap, looking up with a grin.

“And I have a brother, too! Like you!”

“You have two brothers,” Wanda says and Lila nods, looking pleased.

“Yep. Coop and Tasha-Nate. That’s kinda his name but that's what I call him, cause he’s Tasha’s baby!”

Laura stops unrolling aluminum foil and glances up at Lila's words, but Wanda doesn’t seem to have noticed anything odd about what Lila's just said. Laura decides for now to shrug it off, because the last thing they needed during this visit was to complicate things by having Wanda question just how _much_ Natasha was a part of this family.

“Maybe your brother can meet my brother, and they can be friends, and we can all play together,” Lila continues as she grabs her bowl and shoves another bite of granola in her mouth. “Where does your brother live? Can I meet your brother one day?”

Laura does turn around fully at that, biting down on the swear word that wants to escape her lips, and finds herself thinking that Clint would laugh at her if he was here. Wanda’s face falls at the unexpected turn in conversation, her eyes meeting the table.

“Lila, baby.” Laura walks over and puts a hand on her head. “Stop bothering Wanda while she’s trying to eat breakfast.”

“But I wanna see her rings!” Lila twists her head up. “And it’s raining, and I can’t go outside, and we were talking.”

“I know.” Laura tries to think fast. “Do you want to watch some television for awhile? And then when I’m done in the kitchen, we can get out the art table and do some crafts while we wait for Nat and daddy to get home.”

“Okay, but _only_ if you promise,” Lila says sternly, giving her a sharp look. “And daddy’s friend Wanda has to come, too. It's a rule.”

Laura sighs at the demeanor that’s so clearly Natasha in every single way. “I promise, okay?”

Satisfied with her response, Lila slides off of the chair and starts to walk away as Laura clears her throat loudly.

“Excuse me, Miss Lila Barton. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Lila turns mid-step with a cringe and then walks back to the table. She picks up her bowl and spoon, holding them out, and Laura smiles as she bends down to kiss her daughter on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she says as Lila leaves. Laura walks to the sink and starts scrubbing dried granola from the sides of the plastic bowl while sounds she recognizes from _Yo Gabba Gabba_ start penetrating her ear drums. She grimaces to herself; it’s far from the ideal programming she’d normally allow (“this is _so_ not intellectually stimulating, I cannot believe they make these kinds of things for kids,” Natasha had said in horror when she had found Lila and Nate watching it.) But she’s willing to put that aside, for now.

“It is okay, you know,” says Wanda when she finally speaks. Laura puts the now-clean bowl in the drying rack and wipes her hands on a dishtowel covered in bird patterns.

“What’s okay?”

“Me. I am okay.” Wanda raises her head so that she can meet Laura’s eyes. “I am still sad sometimes. I do miss him. But I do not need sympathy.”

Laura’s heart aches as she watches Wanda’s face, the defiant tone that doesn’t quite match the hurt she's unable to mask. It’s too eerily similar to how Natasha would try to defend herself when she broke apart from something, how she would constantly tell Laura she didn’t need comfort or care because she was trying too hard to prove she could be strong and competent.

“I’m not giving you sympathy,” Laura decides. “I’m putting you to work.” She hands out a cookie sheet now covered in shiny silver. “We’re baking chocolate chip cookies for a girl in Lila’s kindergarten class. It’s her birthday this week, and I was sick of bringing cupcakes, which tend to be my usual lazy choice of supermom food. Though honestly, I’m still being lazy by using pre-made cookie batter. Three kids will do that to you.” She winks, motioning with her other hand towards the counter where a roll of Pillsbury dough has been placed. Wanda gets up and takes the tray, putting it on top of the stove as Laura breaks off half of the cookie dough.

“Oh, and don’t be afraid to eat it,” she continues as she passes Wanda her portion. “Contrary to what the labels tell you, raw cookie dough is the best thing in the world, no matter what age you are.” As if to prove her point, she breaks off a mound and pops it into her mouth. Wanda follows suit, nodding in approval.

“You spend a lot of time at home,” Wanda observes after she washes her hands.

“I do now more than I used to,” Laura admits. “I majored in chemistry and got into teaching it as a TA at my college after I graduated. I needed some part-time work and we were trying to make ends meet while Clint was still working here in Iowa. When he was more settled into SHIELD, I decided to go back to graduate school and get my Master’s degree, since I was already working anyway and it was basically going to be paid for.”

“You did that and also raised a child?”

“And cleaned a house, and made sure Clint didn’t kill himself on a daily basis when I wasn’t looking, at work or otherwise,” Laura adds. “I took on a few more classes over the years once the kids got older, though thanks to Clint, I was lucky enough that I didn't need to work every day in order to maintain a livable salary. But I was practically a stay-at-home mom when he started at SHIELD.”

“Is it hard?” Wanda asks curiously, rolling small mountains of dough in her equally small hands. “When he goes away?”

“Yes,” Laura admits. “Emotionally, and physically. I’ve been lucky enough to have my family around to help out, and a few good friends, and also Natasha. And as you can see, he’s pretty much the worst at retirement.” She throws Wanda a grin. “But it doesn’t mean it’s easy. Or that I worry about the fact that one day, there’s going to be something that’s too big for him to handle, and he’ll be in over his head without realizing it.” She pauses, rolling her own dough between her fingers thoughtfully. “He’s a wonderful husband and the best father I’ve ever seen. I love him more than anything in the world, but sometimes, I wonder if he’ll ever be satisfied. Oh, the dough goes here,” she adds when she sees Wanda has run out of room on the counter. She helps her place the medium-sized balls onto the cookie sheet.

“Put that one in the oven, and we’ll make another batch while we wait,” Laura instructs, watching Wanda open the heavy door. Soft waves of heat pour out from inside, a result of the oven having been warmed for the past fifteen minutes.

Wanda bends down to shove the tray inside and almost as if in slow motion, Laura hears the situation get worse before she sees it. The television in the living room, which has been a background noise of kiddie sing-a-longs, suddenly cuts off as Lila, who Laura suspects has gotten bored with her program, starts to channel surf randomly, clicking into what Laura recognizes as a CNN newsfeed.

_“...and President Ellis has to understand that the Avengers are unstable. We need to know what right individuals like Wanda Maximoff have in our country. How can we let someone with a name like Scarlet Witch --”_

Wanda twists around at the sound of her name, jostling the cookie sheet and brushing the back of her hand against the oven rack by accident. She cries out quietly as she withdraws her arm, stumbling back and sinking to the ground, and Laura immediately drops the dough she’s holding.

“ _Oh_ ,” Laura says quietly, falling to her knees beside Wanda hurriedly and watching as a bright, red-hot burn starts to spread across the back of Wanda’s right hand. She notices her fingers are trembling, hot amber sparks shooting out uncontrollably, their heat tearing small holes through the owl-shaped oven mitts that have been knocked to the floor. At the sight of them, Wanda draws in further on herself, tears dripping down her face.

“Wanda...Wanda, sweetheart, it’s okay.” Laura reaches out and touches her hair with gentle fingers, being careful not to touch her hands in case she unexpectedly causes more trauma. “We’ll get you cleaned up. Come here, let me help you.”

Wanda’s still shaking when Laura helps her up by the shoulders, walking her back to the sink where she turns on the faucet. She has some Neosporin and bandages in the first-aid kit upstairs, because these kind of burns aren’t a new occurrence -- Clint hurts himself more often than not, even out of the field, and Cooper has come home on more than one occasion with a skinned knee or elbow. There are still a few rogue sparks shooting from Wanda's middle and pointer fingers, Laura notices, but she ignores the fear manifesting inside of her by telling herself that Wanda’s fear has to be ten times greater than her own. It soothes her, in a way, like it always did when Laura told herself that Natasha, during violent nightmares, was probably more scared of herself than anything else.

“It’s okay,” Laura murmurs quietly, guiding her hand to the faucet and holding it underneath the cold stream of water. The sparks fizzle out as Wanda relaxes, and Laura breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “It’s alright, Wanda. Don’t worry, okay? We’ll take care of you.”

“It hurts,” says Wanda brokenly, tears still damp on her face, and Laura knows that she’s probably not talking about the burn on her hand. She swallows down a boulder and leans in closer as she helps hold her shaking hand underneath the freezing water, trying to forget the words she's heard on TV.

“I know.”

 

***

 

Sunday night in the Barton household is mostly like any other, in that Natasha wakes up roughly three hours after her head hits the pillow to the sound of soft whimpering and crying.

 _So much for a good night’s sleep_ , she thinks to herself as her mind slowly edges back into consciousness. The noise is fainter than it would be if she was in the bedroom, she knows, but the house is so quiet otherwise that it’s almost impossible to ignore the crying that's coming from upstairs. She groans as she turns over, shoving her head further into the lumpy couch pillow, making a mental note to tell Clint to add _soundproof walls_ to his burgeoning retirement list.

Part of her wants to get up and do her share of the work, though she’s done enough late night soothings and feedings that she’s stopped feeling bad about letting Clint and Laura take the brunt of Nate’s fussiness when it came to sleeping through the night. She soon hears the tell-tale creakiness above her that signals Clint has gotten up, and she knows it’s Clint because she’d know his gait anywhere. Stealth was his weak suit out of the field as much as it was in it, and he was unable to quiet his lumbering strides even in his own home. The crying doesn’t stop, however, even when the creaking intensifies, Clint walking back and forth across the floor as he bounces the baby. Natasha imagines him singing softly, blowing raspberries against his son's cheek as he tries to get him to quiet.

 _It’s Wanda_ , she realizes with a pang of guilt and a sudden chill, and the more she listens, the more she can tell how the sound is distinctly different from Nate’s -- it’s soft and needy but it’s also cloaked in something that sounds like fear, while Natasha knows the baby’s cries are often shrouded in utter discontent. She sits up, fully awake, as footsteps descend from above. Natasha sees the small bundle in Clint’s arms and for a brief moment, her heart floods with relief, a hopeful surge that she's heard Nate and not Wanda after all. But when Clint comes out of the shadows and she sees the lines on his face, she knows she’s been right.

“One of these days he’s going to sleep through the night,” Natasha says as she curls her legs, making room on the couch and dragging the blanket over her knees. "I know it."

“He was _so good_ when we brought him home,” Clint grumbles, slouching down next to her. “I was so hopeful. I mean, by six months we’re supposed to be doing six to eight hours with no interruptions, you know? We were doing that with Lila no problem. And now it’s all gone downhill.”

“Yes, because three little teeth are making him uncomfortable,” Natasha says, puffing out her cheeks at the baby and making him giggle. “Maybe they’ll fall out and he’ll stop growing altogether, and then he’ll never be able to eat anything other than pureed carrots.”

“You’re just saying that because you secretly like getting splattered with pureed carrots. They match your hair,” Clint teases, fingering her auburn strands. Natasha smiles to herself; she had been unsure about how she felt when it came to growing out her hair, but Laura had not so subtly told her she liked it long and that had been cause enough for Natasha not to run off to the nearest salon upon coming home for good.

“You sure you’re okay with sleeping on the couch for awhile?” Clint asks after a moment, glancing over. 

“Well, it’s not as comfortable as the bed,” Natasha admits, smiling down at Nate as he reaches his arms towards her. “And I’ll miss Laura cuddling me. But I’ll manage. I’d rather not bring up too many questions while Wanda is staying here, especially when we have to go back to everyone else.”

Clint nods. “Yeah. You know that Lila’s going to give you an early wake-up, right? She’s downstairs before we’re even up most mornings now.”

“I already know.” Natasha grins. “But I’m also the farthest away from Nate, so that means you’re on midnight changing duty for however long she stays here.” When Clint doesn’t respond, she looks over to find his face set in a hard mask that she instantly recognizes as conflicted frustration.

“She’s hurting,” Clint says as another soft cry filters down from upstairs, and Natasha sighs.

“You act like I don’t know that. I was there, you know. For Ultron. For Lagos.”

Clint swallows. “Yeah, but...I was there, too.”

Natasha closes her eyes against what Clint doesn’t say. She doesn’t know what would have happened if they hadn’t been separated during the last part of the battle in Sokovia, and it scares her to think about the fact that she would have most likely been right next to Pietro if things were different, if she had seen what Pietro had seen.

_So get your ass on a boat._

She had taken the easy way out, let down her guard, trusted that they would take care of each other and come back to each other the way they always did. But in the end, it wasn’t all that easy.

“This will be good for her,” Natasha decides quietly, leaning her head on his shoulder. “She needs to be here, I think. With us, with you, with Laura...spending time with this family is the best thing we can do for her right now. I’m glad you decided to have her visit, Clint. I am.”

“I think it’ll be good, too,” he says slowly. “But sometimes, I just don’t know…”

Natasha’s heart skips a few beats at the way his tone is faltering. “Know what?”

Clint frowns as Nate stretches further towards Natasha. “I mean, we won the war, right? What was it all for?”

“Family,” Natasha says, looking down at the baby and fighting the pain squeezing her airways shut. “You know that. That’s why you fight, that’s why we fight. That’s why we’ve _been_ fighting. Clint, we would both lay down our lives to protect Laura and the kids.”

“You always hated when I said that,” Clint points out and Natasha sits up, finally taking the baby in her arms and peppering his cheek with soft kisses.

“I know,” she says after a moment. “Because I didn’t like hearing that you would die for me. And I didn’t like the idea of you sacrificing yourself for your family unnecessarily.” She raises an eyebrow and doesn’t say any of the words -- _Budapest, New York, Sokovia_ \-- but knows they’re implied.

“So now you’re okay with it.”

“Not with dying, no,” Natasha says sharply, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. “But I _am_ okay with doing everything I can to keep our family and any family I’ve got together, no matter the cost. No matter who I have to fight against, or who I have to argue against. If it protects you and us and everything we have, _that’s_ what matters. Isn’t _that_ why we fight?”

Clint nods absently, scratching at the goatee shadowing the lower half of his face. He hasn’t shaved in days, and he’s closer to the start of a full beard then he has been in awhile, though not nearly close enough for Laura to yell at him and for Cooper to complain that he looks like a mountain man.

“I owe her a debt.”

Natasha swallows, looking up at the walls of the living room, which are covered in family photos and a few of Laura’s teaching certifications, as well as Cooper's various sporting awards. “You need to let Wanda fight her own battles,” she says finally. “You can show her that she has someone, and you can be there for her, but you can’t stop her from going back. You can’t force her to make choices that don't involve you. You can't hold her hand and keep her away from the world, Clint. Every time she stepped into the field with us, she chose that.”

“You went after me,” Clint responds. “When Loki took me.”

“I did,” Natasha allows softly, letting the quietness of the house take away her voice.

“You went after me, because you owed it to yourself to save me.”

“I went after you because you _couldn’t_ fight your own battles,” Natasha responds levelly, trying to keep her emotions in check. “Remember? You were compromised. It was different.”

“Was it?” He gives her a sidelong glance, brushing hair out of his eyes, and the band of his wedding ring glints in the moonlight. Although Natasha has become more than used to seeing him wear it over the years thanks to the amount of time she's spent at the farm, it sometimes still throws her when she sees it displayed so prominently, especially since he'd barely taken it off since he’d come home from Ultron.

“You know what it means to owe a debt, Nat.”

“And so do you! Clint, I went after you because I promised Laura and the kids I would bring you home,” Natasha snaps, raising her voice against her better judgement. “And because I loved you and because he was going to kill you if I didn’t save you! What choice did I have?”

She jerks her head around as more creaking starts against the stairs, and a few seconds later Laura emerges from the darkness, unbrushed hair tied into a messy half-ponytail.

“What choice did you have,” Clint repeats quietly as Laura watches them both from a distance. “You had to bring me home.”

“And you brought Wanda home,” Natasha says, her voice softening. “Maybe you’re not fulfilling all of your debts, Clint, not right now. But you _are_ helping her. You’re making a difference in her world, I promise.” She pauses, cradling Nate gently. “And you can only do so much. What happened to Pietro wasn’t your fault.”

Clint shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at his son; Natasha watches his eyes roam around the living room until they finally settle on Laura. “It feels like it,” he admits quietly. Laura walks slowly to the couch, picking up his hand and lacing their fingers together as she sits down on his lap.

“You know I hate talking about her like this,” he says finally. “Like we’re having some fucking secret meeting about her well-being, like we’re no better than those shit government people or gossip columnists who talk about her behind her back every damn day.”

Laura shoots him a look and Clint glares back. “What? The kids are asleep, and this one can’t even put words together yet.”

“I don’t care,” Laura says. “That was two, and I’m still adding them to the chart.”

Natasha smiles at the mention of the large whiteboard tacked to the inside of the closet next to Clint’s retirement list, the one that listed all of their accidental or non-accidental language mishaps. There were grids counting to seven; the first one to reach that number in any given week was in charge of taking care of the morning coffee runs. Since the chart's inception a few months ago, Clint had accrued more lines than anyone else. As a result, he’d also bought more rounds of coffee than he’d wanted to.

“Whatever. I think after three kids, I’ve earned the right to swear as much as I want,” Clint continues as Laura socks him lightly in the arm.

“And I think after three kids, _I’ve_ earned the right to beat you up when you annoy me, Hawkeye.”

“You beat me up every night in bed! It’s a goddamn minefield sleeping with you, I don’t know how you don’t kick me or Nat out of bed entirely.”

“You could divorce me,” Laura suggests while Nate burrows into Natasha’s neck, his small nose brushing against her sternum.

“Nah.” Clint smiles tiredly, though Natasha notices the pained look on his face, the one that comes from thinking too much about Wanda. “If you haven’t divorced me yet, I’m not rocking that boat with my own stupidity.”

“Good call,” Laura agrees, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “Come back to bed, then. Natasha’s already gone and it’s lonely up there without you.”

Clint sighs, eyeing the stairs. The quiet whines have stopped, but Natasha’s not convinced they won’t start again. She knows nightmares, and she knows what happens when your brain refuses to stop replaying the things you’re afraid of.

“Go to her,” she says after a moment, hating that she has to break up the conversation that’s starting to level out, but also knowing he won’t be able to sleep until he satiates enough of his dad worries, the ones that come with the people he cares about not being okay. “She needs you.”

Clint closes his eyes and massages both sides of his face, getting up from the couch. Natasha passes Nate to Laura, following slowly, and Clint turns around when he gets to the top of the stairs. Natasha holds his gaze but doesn’t say anything, and he nods once before he walks down the hallway, pushing open the door to Wanda’s room.

 _Comfort._ Like her, he’d never ask for it, but she knows he’s glad she’s there.

All of the house lights are off save for the night lights plugged into outlets in each bedroom, but moonlight floods the bed from the half-open window, casting a glare over the mound in the middle of the mattress. Natasha notices Wanda’s shaking under the covers and she watches as Clint sits down next to her, putting his hand where she assumes her head is.

“Wanda,” Clint says softly, his voice barely audible from where Natasha is standing, half hidden in the shadows. Part of her feels like she’s encroaching on something that she shouldn’t watch, but she knows that if Clint didn’t want her there, he would have made it clear that he wanted to be alone.

There’s more soft crying, and the lump evens out as Clint strokes the bed covers with lazy fingers. “Wanda,” he tries again. “It’s Clint. You’re safe. You can wake up.”

The covers fold back slowly, the top of Wanda’s dark hair peeking out from underneath the blankets and Wanda flinches, now wide awake, scrambling up against the headboard. Even in the dark, Natasha can see her terrified eyes, the look indicative of mistrust, the look that comes with trying to place your surroundings when you're unstable.

“Hey,” Clint says, stroking her hair. “Hey, Wanda. It’s just me. You know me. It's okay.”

Wanda’s lower lip trembles and she takes a shuddering breath, jagged gasps of air releasing from her lungs. “I had a bad dream,” she says quietly.

Clint nods, keeping his hand on her face. “I know. It’s alright. I have bad dreams, too.”

Natasha watches from the doorway as Wanda pitches forward into Clint’s arms, hugging him tightly, pressing her face into his shoulder the same way Lila or Cooper might cling to their father when they needed comfort from whatever demon had found its way into their brains.

“You’re safe,” Clint repeats quietly as Natasha backs out of the room, sinking into the dark hallway, leaning against the wall to hide her own tears.

 

***

 

Laura spills most of the story to her mother the next morning when they stop for coffee after dropping Cooper and Lila off at school, Elizabeth having picked them up as part of her weekly morning routine. Laura had come along so that she could drop off a permission slip for an upcoming field trip Cooper’s class was taking to a nearby amusement park, and also so she could make sure Lila’s cookies made their way to the classroom face-up and not face-down. (“I would _not_ have ruined the cookies,” Clint had huffed out indignantly when Laura found Natasha taking a shower and only Clint in the kitchen while packing Cooper’s bright orange backpack.)

“Clint brought a friend to the farm,” she explains as she stirs milk into her latte, edging out a woman with a large diaper bag who tries to grab for the same canister. “From work.”

“Is that why you look more tired than usual?” Elizabeth asks.

Laura manages a smile. “Well, that’s probably Nate. I know you said I was terrible at teething, but did I really wake you up as much as he’s waking up right now? My other two weren’t this bad.”

Elizabeth shrugs, holding the door open for another customer. “At some point, it all blends together. And remember, I only had one.” She smiles. “He’ll get better, I promise. Besides, it’s not like you have a shortage of hands to help you out.”

Laura nods, stirring her coffee more vigorously before shoving a top onto her cup and following her mother out the door and into the car.

“This friend...she’s an Avenger?”

“Yes,” Laura allows as her mother starts the car. She turns down the radio so she can hear better. “Her name is Wanda. Wanda Maximoff. They also call her Scarlet Witch...I’m not sure if you’ve heard of her.”

Elizabeth shakes her head. “I don’t hear too many things about what Clint does, or things about the Avengers, aside from what you tell me. But you know that I don’t pay too much attention to the news these days.”

 _Not yet_ , Laura thinks grimly, remembering the weekend’s interruption. Papers and special reports were one thing, but she has a feeling the headlines are soon going to be harder and harder to ignore. 

“She’s just a kid,” Laura continues, sipping her coffee as Elizabeth pulls out of the parking lot, waving gaily at a friend Laura recognizes from her book group. “She’s going through all of this alone, and it’s not fair, mom. She’s just a _kid_.”

“Going through what alone?” Elizabeth asks in a pointed way that’s not quite frustration as much as it's the fact that she needs her daughter to elaborate if she wants the conversation to continue. Laura sighs, taking a long drink.

“She was supposed to fight, and she made a mistake, and now the world’s afraid of her. But she’s so young and she shouldn’t be dealing with this by herself. Clint’s pretty much the only family she has.”

“And he took her in,” Elizabeth says with a short laugh. Laura gives her mother a look.

“So?”

“Oh, Laura-love.” Elizabeth smiles. “I think I know your husband better than you do sometimes.”

 _You’d be surprised_ , Laura thinks as she stares out the window. “He likes to help people. I know, mom. Sometimes, I think he likes to help people too much.”

“And you?” Elizabeth asks as she makes a right-hand turn onto the road that Laura knows leads back towards the house. “You like to help people, too. Why do you think Natasha stayed?”

“It’s hard,” Laura admits, playing with the top of her cup. “And it’s different than when he would bring Natasha home in the beginning. I see my children in Wanda, but also I know she’s not my child, and that I can’t treat her like one.”

“So, you feel stuck,” Elizabeth surmises.

“Sort of.” Laura leans her head against the car window. “And you know I don’t like having a problem in front of me that I can’t solve. Clint brought Wanda here because he promised her she would always have a place to go, and he wanted to help. But I don’t know how much _I_  canhelp, and I feel like I need to do something more than just bake cookies and offer moral support.”

Elizabeth remains quiet for a long time, slowing at a stop sign. “What does Clint think?”

“Oh, he’s worried,” Laura says, closing her eyes against the sun, silently cursing the fact she’s forgotten her sunglasses. “He can’t hide it. But it’s easier for him, a little bit. He thinks of her as a daughter, and he can, because when they worked together, he became her mentor in a way. She looks up to him, and she feels comfortable with him and understands him. But I don’t want to baby her, or make her think that I don’t believe she can’t handle herself.”

Elizabeth hums under her breath. “You know, your dad struggled with this.”

“With what?” Laura asks curiously.

“Helping people,” Elizabeth answers. “When we finally settled here for good, he joined a support group for veterans and met a lot of people through it. Some of them didn’t have family and he often felt guilty that, at the end of the day, he had me to come home to while other people with worse experiences had no one.”

Laura takes another sip of coffee, letting the caffeine soothe the stress headache pounding in her brain. “So how did he manage?” she asks, because for as long as Laura has known her dad, he's been nothing but a stoic, competent husband and father who always seemed to have everything under control. It was sometimes a surprise to her, knowing Clint had initially struggled with finding common ground with Bob Foster, because they were more alike than Laura knew, and not just because of their army pasts.

“He got to know a few of them and invited them over for dinner every so often. He gave them a place to go for holidays and birthdays, the same way you and Clint did with Natasha,” Elizabeth says. “But he found what helped him the most was respecting what they were going through. The same way I know you’re respecting Wanda and her choices. Am I right?”

Laura smiles wryly as they turn up the farm road. “So, stop stressing, I’m doing everything right, and I don’t need to worry?”

“Something like that,” Elizabeth says as the car rolls to a stop at the end of the driveway, next to Clint’s old truck. “I love that you ask for help, but you’re smarter than you realize, Laura-love. Even if you’re not smart enough to know that I always had a feeling Natasha was more than Clint’s partner.”

Laura shakes her head, heat settling in her cheeks, because part of her still isn't used to their secret being this open. “At least you let us tell you about it and didn’t come out with that secret by giving her new weapons,” she says, remembering the Christmas that Clint had unwrapped a large set of new arrows with an utterly surprised look that screamed a combination of _shit_ and _oh well_.

“No, but there’s always _this_ Christmas,” Elizabeth teases, putting a hand on her knee. Laura smiles gratefully.

“Thanks, mom.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Elizabeth cautions as she kisses her daughter on the cheek. “I have a feeling I’ll be getting a call about babysitting later this week.”

Laura laughs quietly as she closes the car door, waving her mother off. She waits until the car has backed down the road and then shifts her coffee to the other hand, using her keys to wrestle the door open and stopping when she catches sight of the bright pink post-it note, which is emblazoned with Clint’s famous chicken scrawl.

_Hannah’s w/ Nat. Nate wanted to see the dog. Back later. -C_

“Not a fan of the written word, huh?” Laura asks as she drops her bag on the floor after walking inside, finding Wanda sitting on the couch by herself. She’s staring dazedly into the distance as if she’s in a trance and a leather bound journal sits by her side with its pages open. A purple pen is lying across the page but Laura notices there’s no actual words on the paper, save for a few vowels that have been turned into a healthy doodle of stars and hearts. Wanda looks up with a guilty face and Laura wonders how long she’s been alone, and then if she had been the one to tell Clint and Natasha she was fine being alone.

“I am sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Clint gave this to me because he thought after my nightmares, it might help me to write out what I have trouble talking about. And I am trying, but...I don’t know if writing out my feelings is for me. It makes me think too much.”

Laura smiles gently. “Journaling helped me when I had a few bad experiences in my life, but writing isn't for everyone,” she agrees, the wheels starting to turn inside her head. “And it’s okay. I think I actually have something else that might help. If you want.” She adds the last words hastily, remembering what she had told her mother about not babying the girl she knew didn’t truly need to be coddled in the way that the world believed she did.

Wanda’s lips form a thin line. “Yes, please.”

“Let me just put down my coffee and I’ll be right back,” Laura promises, placing her drink on the side table and walking into the kitchen. She double checks that either Clint or Natasha had actually cleaned up like she’d requested and then descends into the basement, searching through the clutter of old cribs and bassinets and the mess of Clint’s eternally growing work bench, until she finds what she’s looking for. She picks up the old wooden guitar carefully and carries it upstairs, meeting Wanda back in the living room.

“That is yours?” Wanda asks in surprise as Laura sits down next to her. “I did not know you played.”

“I don’t, technically,” says Laura, trying out a string and wincing as the completely out-of-tune instrument twangs back at her noisily. “My dad did, when he was on base during his time in the Air Force. He tried teaching me when I was younger, but I wasn’t so disciplined, believe it or not. I liked throwing a ball around and running track meets more than I liked playing guitar and piano.” She reaches for the peg holding the E-String and fiddles with it, not missing the way Wanda is staring at her hands, as if she’s fascinated by the way Laura is working.

“Why did your dad play?” Wanda asks, continuing to watch Laura closely.

“I think because it helped him when he felt sad,” Laura responds. She plucks at the now slightly tuned E-String before moving to the A-String. It still sounds far too sharp, but at least it's a sound that doesn’t remind her of the screeching ringwraiths from _Lord of the Rings_. “He didn’t have to talk when he played, and he could say everything he wanted to say without actually having to think about it. Plus, when he was distracted or bored and couldn’t get to work for whatever reason, it helped keep him busy.”

“So why do you have it in your house?” Wanda asks, putting her chin in her hands, and Laura finds herself wondering if maybe Wanda is someone who isn't used to things like needless treasures or a big house filled with things that have come from opportunity.

“Well. For starters, it can never hurt to teach your children things like the guitar,” Laura says with a shrug. “We're still working on that. Cooper got a kiddie one as a birthday gift a few years ago but he grew out of it...decided sports were a more worthwhile way to spend his time. Given my own childhood, I couldn't be mad about that. We might decide to give Lila lessons in a few years once she figures out what she's really interested in aside from reading every book on the shelf and pretending to be a secret agent. And Clint learned a little bit when we first got married. Turns out, bow fingers were good for something besides shooting arrows.” _And sex_ , she adds silently as she tries out the two strings. She hands over the guitar and Wanda looks uncertain, but takes it gingerly.

“Did they give any warnings about unstable people playing instruments?” Wanda asks self-deprecatingly as she settles the guitar against her knees, her fingers brushing the strings.

“No,” Laura says, shaking her head and looking at the bandage covering the back of Wanda's hand. “But I know what happened in Lagos, Wanda. And I know you’re afraid of creating destruction. Natasha was afraid of that, once. Just in a different way. I don’t see how busying your hands and allowing them to create something beautiful instead of something hurtful could be a bad thing. I think it might help.”

Wanda smiles tightly as she tries out a few chords, making a face when the harsh sounds fill the room. “If I ask Clint, do you think he will be able to teach me?”

“Of course,” Laura says, sitting back on the couch. “He hasn’t played in awhile, but he was always better at naturally picking up patterns. And his memory is a lot sharper than mine is. He used to play for Cooper and Lila, but with avenging...well, we eventually got busy and put it away. There’s really no good excuse for why it ended up in the basement, other than for clutter purposes.” She watches Wanda explore the instrument with care and curiosity, and then takes her cell phone out of her pocket.

_Seems dad’s guitar is going to good use after all._

There’s vibration almost immediately, a hurried string of texts in which Laura swears she can almost hear the frantic tone of her husband’s voice.

_Do you need us to come home?_

Laura wants to laugh at the worrisome response, wondering what in her previous text would make Clint think something was wrong enough that he had to dive into overprotective dad mode.

_Why? Are you afraid Wanda’s trying to eat the strings because we haven’t fed her enough?_

Her answer is two glaring emojis in quick succession, and Laura half-wonders if they’ve come from Natasha, who has probably stolen his phone. She looks at Wanda, who is still handing the guitar carefully, and smiles to herself as the formerly sharp chords settle into a melody that sounds a little more soothing.

_I’m serious. I’ve got it covered. But you might want to brush up on those teaching skills._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wanda has a guitar in her room](http://66.media.tumblr.com/ccbea850a921ec0082f111498460b86c/tumblr_o6yi1bjsGd1ugkmqjo1_500.gif) and I am fully convinced it came from the Barton's. And for anyone wondering about timelines, the news reports that Steve is watching right before Ross comes to visit the Avengers indicates the Lagos attack happened "last month", which I chose to interpret as a time frame that allowed Wanda enough of a break to go off on her own.
> 
> I was hoping Marvel would give the amazing Dora Milaje we saw in Civil War a name so I could use her in this story, but alas. So in my research of Wakanda and the Dora Milaje, I chose to have Natasha interact with Okoye, who in the comics served under T'Challa.
> 
> If you think you have feelings now, I do not apologize for what is to come. Also, points to anyone who spots the gratuitous Hamilton references!


	4. Chapter 4

Wanda’s in the middle of finishing a shower when Clint unceremoniously sticks his head around the bathroom door.

“Hey, sorry.” He motions as she turns around, whipping still-wet hair back from her face. “Door was unlocked, so, uh...I figured you were done in here.”

“I am,” Wanda says with a smile, hanging Laura’s monogrammed towel carefully on the rack by the sink.

“Well, good. Listen, I got milkshakes for us and the kids from Five Guys, and I thought we could drink them while we have some guitar lessons. Sound like a plan?”

“Give me five minutes to put pants on, Clint,” Wanda replies, gesturing to the gym shorts and tank top she’s thrown back on. Clint can’t help but smile as he closes the bathroom door behind her; in the weeks since Wanda had come to the farm, he’s seen her laugh and smile more than he thinks he ever has. It settles him, even though he’s not stupid enough to think she’s not still harboring more than a few terrified feelings underneath her renewed calm. He wasn’t immune to the nightmares that still woke her up, the fears he continued to soothe when it was dark, or the way she still sometimes drew back around Nate -- the same kind of reactions Natasha had exhibited when Lila was first born. But being out of the limelight and away from the Avengers seemed to be working wonders for her psyche, at least outwardly. And after a considerable amount of time, Clint stops worrying that Cap or Tony or some news crew is going to knock on his door and demand to know where the Scarlet Witch is hiding.

“You’re racking them up like dogs,” Natasha had remarked one Friday night, after Wanda had been recruited for a game of _Monopoly_ and strawberry shortcake with Lila and Cooper. Laura had sighed while changing Nate’s diaper, and Clint knew, at that point, Wanda had essentially reached the point where she could probably consider herself an adopted member of the family.

By the time Clint gets back downstairs, Cooper and Lila are sucking furiously on their shakes in a contest to see who can drink the fastest without getting cold eye. Laura has given up on actually trying to parent them and is preparing a dinner salad, while Natasha watches a curious Nate, who is lying on his back on the baby blanket in the living room. Clint stops in front of his son, looking down as Nate pulls a small cloth over his face and then waves it away in what Clint supposes is his version of solo peek-a-boo.

“Hngga!” Nate greets his father with a squeal.

“ _Hngga_ to you too, buddy,” Clint says, crouching down and rubbing his son’s stomach while Nate grins and laughs. “Do me a favor and use your words one day.”

“Oh, he will,” Natasha says with a sigh. “Can’t you tell how hard he’s been trying to figure out how to talk lately? It means that he’s never going to shut up once he figures out what to say.”

“So he’s supposed to be mini-you, but instead, he’s going to be mini-me?” Clint asks, kissing her on the head. Natasha glares.

“Watch it, Barton.”

“Wanda and I are doing guitar on the porch,” Clint announces, ignoring Natasha’s jab to his shin, biting down on a yell. He glares back at his now smirking partner while grabbing Laura’s Iowa State sweatshirt and the two chocolate shakes he’s left on the coffee table. “Yell if you need me.”

“We will. Be home in time for dinner,” Laura teases loudly as Wanda walks down the stairs holding her guitar, now dressed in jeans and a FEED THE ANIMALS, NOT THE HUMANS shirt Clint recognizes as belonging to Natasha.

“So is there a secret to drinking a milkshake and playing the guitar at the same time?” Wanda asks, putting the cup down so she can place the guitar comfortably on her lap.

“Not that I know of,” Clint says as they settle outside on the porch swing. He takes a long sip of his milkshake. “Come on. Like we practiced -- the beginning, chords C and Em, and try to keep your rhythm steady as I sing. I’ll base my speed on you.”

Wanda nods and starts playing, her fingers thumbing the thick strings as Clint slowly churns out the lyrics to _Eleanor Rigby_. By the time Wanda’s finished half of the first verse, only mistakenly hitting a wrong note a few times, Clint can’t stop smiling.

“You’ve been practicing,” he says with approval as she sits back on the swing. “And you’re a lot more comfortable with using your fingers when it comes to chord changes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re turning into a natural.”

Wanda shrugs. “I told the fear to go shove itself,” she says boldly and Clint grins.

“Well, good. Here, lemme show you some new tricks. You wanna learn the basics for _Brown Eyed Girl_? I think I have enough memory for that one.”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you a question.” Wanda looks suddenly shy, and Clint detects a hint of anxiety in her voice.

“About guitar playing?”

Wanda shakes her head. “Not...exactly about guitar playing,” she hedges, settling the instrument across her lap and twirling hair around her finger. “It is just...while I have been with the Avengers, I have been talking a lot with Vision. And we have been hanging out a lot when we are not working.” She pauses. “I think he is very nice.”

“Wait.” Clint can’t help the grin that he knows is breaking over his face. “You  _like_ Vision? As in, you have a crush on him?”

“I...I do not know,” Wanda answers slowly. “Maybe. The only person I have ever liked was a boy in Sokovia who went to my temple. We would say prayers together every week at Hebrew School and sometimes he bought me bread from the market. I do not have much experience dating, or anything like that.”

It takes Clint a moment to realize that, Natasha and Laura notwithstanding, the first person coming to him for real relationship advice isn’t even one of his own children. “Well.” He stops and thinks before he continues. “I’m probably a bad example, because I wasn’t someone who ever put a lot of stock in relationships. I mean, we all slept around in the military, and I had a few girlfriends, but I never really thought about _liking_ anyone. I never thought I’d settle down or get married. But when Laura and I met, we kind of moved really quickly. We just knew we wanted to be together all the time.”

“That was easy. You did not have superpowers,” Wanda says sadly.

“And Laura wasn’t artificial,” Clint responds smartly. “Though, I sometimes joked she was, because for a long time, she barely cried at anything.”

Wanda tries to smile. “I have this.” She waves her fingers, indicating her powers. “It makes me different. I do not know if he finds me fascinating because he is made the same way, or if he really does like spending time with me.”

“From my perspective, you’re a pretty hard girl not to like,” Clint offers with a wink. “But if you’re really stressing over it, just start with being friends. Don’t let yourself get overwhelmed by feelings. You’re still getting to know each other as teammates, so maybe try some movie dates where it’s just the two of you guys hanging out. Get comfortable, order some take out --”

“Like pizza?” Wanda interrupts eagerly.

“Pizza, or thai food, or hell, even cheap Chinese. That’s pretty much all Laura and I ate before we got married and had to cook for people other than ourselves.” He notices Wanda’s starting to look more relaxed and curbs a smile, electing instead to give himself a mental pat on the back.

_Good job, Barton. By the time you decide to let Cooper and Lila date, you’ll be a regular pro._

“If things do go okay and we get to know each other, can you teach me how to control this?” Wanda showers sparks at the sky, and Clint watches the red energy glow and then dissipate before him, fading into the velvet blue expanse.

“One lesson at a time, kiddo. Today, it’s guitar and apparently, relationship talk. Maybe next week, we can work on the whole hand waving thing. Okay?”

“It is not hand waving,” Wanda says indignantly. Clint pats her a little awkwardly on the head.

“I know it’s not. I just like making fun of you.” He finds her eyes, locking into her gaze, hoping she can see the seriousness settling in his face. “I _will_ teach you how to control it, Wanda. I promise.”

“Dad?”

Clint looks up, shaken out of the conversation by Cooper’s voice as his son walks out onto the porch.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“I, uh. I had a question. For Wanda.”

Wanda turns around in surprise, leaning over to put the guitar on the ground. “Yes? What do you want to ask me, Cooper?”

“How…” Cooper gestures towards her. “How did you...that thing you do with your hands, the red stuff. How did that happen?”

Clint’s protective dad radar instantly spikes, his hand shooting out and landing on Wanda’s knee. “Coop --”

“No.” Wanda looks up at Clint, shaking her head. “It is alright, Clint. If it is okay with you, I am comfortable sharing that story.”

Clint exhales slowly, part of him wanting to suggest that maybe this isn’t the right time, before Natasha’s words start to ring in his mind.  _You can’t hold her hand and keep her away from the world, Clint._ He nods at Wanda but doesn’t remove his hand from her knee, even when Wanda starts to speak.

“When I was little, my parents were taken away from me in an accident. My brother and I were left alone.”

“Like dad?” Cooper asks. Wanda shoots Clint a quick glance and he shrugs; he’d only recently dropped that his parents had died when Wanda asked where his family lived after learning Laura’s were close by.

“Yes,” says Wanda. “One day, a man came to us and offered us an opportunity. He said we could help him end the war that had taken over our country. I was not sure I wanted his help, but my brother convinced me it was the right thing to do, and I trusted him. This man did experiments on us and we found out that we were able to do things with our bodies. Things we did not know we could do before. Like this.” She moves the fingers of one hand slowly, emitting a controlled show of red energy. Clint watches Cooper’s face, recognizing the way his son is trying to work up the courage to say his words out loud.

“I have trouble in school,” Cooper starts finally. “I have something called dysgraphia. I guess it means I don’t, like, understand things sometimes when I write. But I have trouble writing sometimes, too. I have to take special classes and a lot of teachers help me. Sometimes, I don’t get to do things like play with my friends because I’m different, and I have to do special work other people don’t have to do.”

Wanda leans forward. “It is okay to be different, you know. What I can do makes me different, but it is also a part of me. I am trying to accept that, because being different does not have to be a bad thing.”

“Do you ever ask for help?” Cooper asks and Wanda nods.

“Yes. Right now, I am learning that asking for help is the right thing to do. It is partially why I came to visit you and your family.”

Cooper smiles and then looks at his father, biting down on his lip. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Mom says I shouldn’t ask other people about their life if I don’t know them very well. I didn’t mean to be rude.” He looks back at Wanda. “It’s cool, and I just wanted to know.”

Clint’s heart melts at his son’s words, because as worried as he had been about tapping into Wanda’s insecurities, he knows he can’t be mad at his son for seeing what he suspects Natasha had seen in Wanda: someone else who was a little different, and someone else who didn’t quite fit in.

“Hey, kiddo.” Clint gets up, opening his arms, enveloping him in a hug. “You’re okay. Curious, right? You get that from your mom and me. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Cooper makes a face as he pulls away from his dad. “I thought I got that from Nat.”

“Nah, you got other things from Nat,” Clint says, not bothering to remind Cooper that Natasha didn’t actually birth him, because if there was such a thing as proving that babymaking by osmosis existed, he’s pretty sure they’d qualify for some sort of scientific award. There are times when he has to forcibly remember that for as much as Natasha is part of their family -- as much as she had a ring and lived with them and was, for all intents and purposes, their wife and the mother of all of their children -- she _didn’t_ have an actual hand in creating them, as much as it sometimes pains him to realize it.

“My height?”

“No, _that_ you got from grandpa,” Clint says with a small sigh. “Try your sneakiness, kiddo. Not to mention your ability to talk your way out of anything.”

Cooper grins, his face lighting up. “Lila’s sneaky, too.”

“I know. By the time Nate can walk, you’ll all drive me crazy.” He kisses Cooper on the head and lets him walk back inside, turning around to find Wanda staring at him.

“I’m pretty sure you just survived your first mom talk,” he says as he sits down on the swing, picking up his milkshake again and slurping noisily. Wanda rolls her eyes.

“I would prefer the big sister talk, if that is okay with you.”

Clint smiles around his straw, and uses one hand to rub Wanda’s back. “Yeah,” he says, staring up at the autumn sky that’s starting to fill itself with the first hint of evening stars. “That’s okay with me.”

 

***

 

Clint normally doesn’t mind the things that come with being an active household. He tolerates errands, he grocery shops more than he knows most dads probably would, and because of his many projects, housework -- even the most annoying and complicated of tasks -- is bearable. What he _does_ mind is Laura walking into the bathroom late on a Saturday morning as he’s brushing his teeth and washing his face, saying, “Coop and Lila want me to make mac and cheese, and we’re out of milk.”

Clint spits toothpaste into the sink and reaches for a hand towel. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Laura repeats slowly. She crosses her arms over her chest, the very picture of _I expect you to listen to me_. “So, when you finish up in here, can you please run to the store?”

Clint makes a noise into the towel, dragging it down his face. “But Wanda’s here,” he practically whines, throwing the towel on the ground. Laura glances at it with disdain before looking up again.

“Wanda’s not going anywhere, and we need milk, otherwise no one in his house is eating lunch. Or breakfast, for that matter.”

“What? We can’t make, like, turkey sandwiches instead of mac and cheese? Pancakes instead of cereal? Let’s be real, Laura, we’ve had mac and cheese almost every other weekend.”

“ _Clint_.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Clint huffs angrily. “Why can’t _you_ go?”

“Because. I need to sort the laundry and watch the baby, and Natasha wanted to try to take a nap. Honestly, Clint. This is _literally_ a milk run. You do it all the time while avenging, I think you can manage.”

“I haven’t done a milk run since 2003,” he mutters as she turns around and slams the bathroom door. Clint stews quietly for a few moments while finishing up in the bathroom, and then eventually makes his way downstairs.

“Who wants to take a ride in the truck?” Clint asks once he steps into the living room, and Cooper and Lila both leap to their feet.

“Daddy! I do, I do!”

“Good. Last one to the car is a rotten egg.” He avoids Laura’s glare and ushers his children outside ahead of him while he grabs his keys; even before he opens the door, Clint can hear the loud squabbling that’s coming from the inside of the car.

“Lila was the rotten egg, dad!”

“Cheater! Coop blocked me with his arm when I was trying to run.”

“I did not, buttface.”

“Dad!” Lila’s voice rises indignantly. “Coop called me a bad word!”

“Lila started it!”

“Enough,” Clint breaks in loudly, getting in the driver’s seat. “Coop, you know better.”

“Come on, dad. Aunt Nat called _you_ a buttface the other day when you took her coffee!”

Clint grits his teeth. “Yes. You’re right, she did. But we’re grown-ups, and we know how and when to use those words. What did I tell you about calling people names?” He looks at Cooper pointedly as he starts to drive and Cooper rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Even if it’s not a bad word, you shouldn’t say it.”

“Why not?” Clint presses and Cooper sighs more loudly.

“Because it hurts their feelings and it’s not polite,” he continues methodically. “Hey, dad, can we stop at the bookstore while we’re out?”

Clint glances into the rearview mirror as he merges onto the main road. “Sorry, kiddo. This trip is a one-and-done deal. We’re just picking up milk so we can make you guys lunch and then we’re going back home.”

“To see Wanda?”

Lila’s bounced into his peripheral vision, leaning over as far as she can in the backseat. She only gets halfway towards him, pulled back thanks to the hefty seatbelt Clint had put in on Laura’s orders when he had fixed up the vehicle a few years ago.

“Yes,” Clint answers. “Lila, don’t sit like that, okay? It’s not safe.”

Lila slouches back at her dad’s request. “Where is Wanda from?”

“Sokovia,” says Clint as they speed down the road. “I went there for work, and that’s where we met.” He feels Cooper eyeing him from the passenger seat but ignores it; there were good and bad things about Cooper knowing the truth about his job and one of them was that he often had to see his dad skirt around questions that he couldn't provide the right answers for.

“Soko...where’s that, daddy?”

“Far, far away,” Clint answers, too tired to give the history lesson that he knows will come with the twenty questions Lila’s started to ask. “Coop, find something on the radio we can listen to.”

He lets Cooper fiddle with the dial on the truck’s dashboard until it hits a classic rock station, and Clint lets the music of Led Zepplin and The Rolling Stones distract his mind until they’ve reached the small market halfway down the road. It’s a roadside stand more than anything else, but overall convenient when they need to pick up one or two items that don’t require going all the way into town and doing a large grocery run.

Clint lets Cooper and Lila run ahead of him as he locks up the car. By the time he’s walked inside and picked up a gallon of nonfat milk, his children are already huddled by the register, practically salivating over the various boxes of chocolate that line the shelves. Clint sighs to himself, at this point enough of a parent to realize when he’s done in for, and doles out a few extra dollars for a large bag of M&Ms without waiting for the inevitable begging. As he shoves money towards the teenaged employee, he catches sight of the morning’s _Des Moines Register_ pushed to the side, bent and wrinkled. Boxes of cigarettes and a few lighters cover most of the words on the front page, but he manages to see the headline, which is enough to make his blood boil.

_**How Safe Is Too Safe? Lawmakers Say Enhanced Superheroes Could Be Our Latest Threat** _

“Shit,” Clint mutters, glancing at a still-frame of Lagos and an inset of Wanda looking forlorn and terrified. Next to the paper, there’s also an issue of the latest _People_ with Kim Kardashian on the cover. Clint catches Wanda on one of the smaller panels showcasing subsections of the magazine’s noteworthy stories; she’s walking with her head down, her face hidden by dark glasses and the New York Yankees cap he’s lent her.

_**Scarlet Witch’s big day out! “I’m terrified to be on my own.”** _

“Fucking _hell_ ,” Clint says loudly and Lila looks up from where she’s been shoving handfuls of candy into her mouth.

“Daddy said a bad word!”

Clint closes his eyes, cursing again silently. “Yeah. Sorry, Lila baby. Mom’s gonna yell at me.”

When the bored teenager at the counter turns away, Clint snatches both the newspaper and the magazine, hoping his kids are too preoccupied with their candy to notice. He barely pays attention to any of the conversations that happen on the way home, the image of Wanda on the front of the magazine burning a hole in his brain and making him unable to concentrate on anything but the open road.

“I’m telling mommy you sweared a bad word!” Lila announces when they park back at the house, tumbling out of the car before Clint has a chance to fully turn the engine off. Clint lets Cooper bring the milk inside and then gathers the stolen papers, shoving them underneath his arm as he walks towards the house, making sure the pertinent headlines are carefully concealed by his elbow. Laura had told him how Wanda had burned her hand, and Clint knows the last thing she needed to know or see was that everyone was talking about her outside of their small corner of the world.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks immediately when he walks in the door, and he knows he hasn’t been able to wipe the scowl off his face.

“I thought you were napping."

"I was," Natasha says. "Or I was trying to. Seriously, Clint. What's wrong?"

“I saw Wanda,” Clint says shortly. “On the cover of _People_.”

“Wanda made the cover?” Natasha asks with an eyebrow raise. “I’ll have to congratulate her. I only get the _Stars -- They’re Just Like Us!_ mentions. And usually, it’s a photo of me on the way to the gym. They’re still convinced I wear a bad wig, by the way, and that my hair _can’t_ be real.”

“She didn’t make the cover because she was some victim of a dumb tabloid rumor,” Clint snaps, throwing both the paper and magazine onto the coffee table. “She’s being talked about everywhere. On the news, in the papers, by the government, even in the goddamn gossip magazines! What’s next? Is the _Enquirer_ gonna break down our door wanting to know how we live with such a dangerous person?” He kicks one of Nate’s toy cars across the floor, sending it careening into the television stand with a sharp crack, and Natasha’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist, her hold tight enough to render him still.

“Calm the hell down, Clint. You’re at home.”

Clint takes a deep breath as Natasha release her iron grip, picking up the newspaper, and Clint watches her take in the story. He had read the opening graf once he had been able to see the full front page, but had stopped a few sentences in once he had also seen _Scarlet Witch is an individual that we call a girl, but a case could be made for classifying her as a weapon of mass destruction_.

“You can’t protect her,” Natasha says after a long silence, folding up the paper carefully. “I know you want to, but you _can’t…_ ” She trails off, shaking her head sadly. “Everyone said things about me after Hydra, Clint. _Everyone_. You think I didn’t get used to seeing my face, along with Steve’s and Sam’s, on the front page of every paper? You don’t think I went to bed hearing nothing but gossip about how Sam and I were sleeping together, about how Steve was running off with me? After New York, _you_ were all over the news. Did they ever get any story right about anything you did while under Loki’s mind control?”

Clint doesn’t answer that, choosing against words he knows will potentially start another argument, and Natasha rubs her forehead.

“Look. She already knows people are talking, and she’s going to find out that they won’t stop. Eventually, it’s going to get worse.”

“Worse than _this_?”

Natasha hesitates before speaking. “Yes. Steve called while you were out and asked when we were planning to come back.”

“Another mission?” Clint asks, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“No,” Natasha says curtly. “Though I wish it was. Apparently, the Secretary of State is paying us a visit soon.”

“The Secretary -- good god, _why_?”

“Lagos, I’m sure,” Natasha says grimly, pushing hair behind her ear. “Beyond that, I don’t know why else.”

“Yeah, but…” Clint scratches at an old scar by his hairline, feeling parts of the scab come off on his fingers. “We’ve done some shit stuff as Avengers, Nat. I mean, hell, we dropped a whole city from the sky. And we’ve gotten yelled at by SHIELD and everything, and we’ve even gotten a beating from the World Security Council, but it’s never been enough to call in the _government_.”

“One swear mark for the week,” Natasha says, marking an imaginary line with her finger. “And I don’t know, Clint, because you’re right. We’ve done worse things and have never gotten more than a slap on the wrist for them. I just...I’m not going to lie. I have a bad feeling about this whole thing.”

“You and me both,” Clint mutters, casting his gaze towards the backyard. “So, they want you there for this visit?”

“They want us all there. I mean, all of us that are active,” she adds quickly. “ _You_ are staying in retirement, and I don’t care if that means if I have to nail your hands into pieces of wood in order to get you to obey. Don’t think Laura won’t help me.”

“Harsh, Nat,” he spits as the back door opens, Lila’s voice pouring into the kitchen along with Wanda and Laura’s footsteps. "Make me out to role play _Passion of the Christ_."

“I’m serious, Clint. You are, without a doubt, the absolute worst at retirement.”

“I am not!”

“You are. You’re worse than Cooper making a promise that he won’t steal snacks from the pantry.”

“I haven’t even thought about going back into the field!”

Natasha shoots him an _oh please_ that Clint thinks could rival Laura’s death stare (and maybe Lila’s too, because as much as Clint doesn’t want to admit it, she’s getting pretty good at silent treatments).

“Well. Not all the time,” he amends as Natasha rolls her eyes.

“At least that was a more honest answer,” she replies, snatching the paper from the coffee table, though not before heavy footsteps enter the room.

“Is that about me?”

Natasha and Clint exchange glances before turning around to see Wanda and Laura, who is holding Lila in her arms. Wanda’s looking down at the magazine still lying face up on the table, and Clint swallows down a lump in his throat as Natasha wordlessly hands it over, watching Wanda’s face change as she reads.

“Well.” She looks up, and Clint notices that while there are tears in her eyes, her face is set in a mask of hard anger. “At least they spelled my name right.”

Natasha looks at her feet and Clint runs a hand through messy hair as Laura carefully steps around Wanda, putting Lila down.

“Hey, Lila baby, can you check on your brother and make sure he’s still sleeping? And see if Coop’s out of the bathroom yet? I want you to shower before lunch.”

Lila nods, making her way up the stairs, and once she’s passed out of earshot, Laura puts her hand on Clint’s arm.

“What’s going on?”

Clint rubs his eyes. “Nat said the Secretary of State wants to meet with the Avengers.” He doesn’t miss the way Wanda’s eyes widen, her entire face shifting into an expression of fear.

“Because of me?”

“Because of all of us,” Natasha interjects. “Whatever this is, it’s not just about you, Wanda. It’s an Avengers matter, and Steve wants all of us there so that we can talk about it.” Clint notices Laura’s squeezing his arm harder the more Natasha speaks, her fingers digging into his skin so fiercely he’s pretty sure there are going to be marks when she lets go.

“I do not want to leave,” Wanda says quietly, in a resigned voice. She looks around the living room, her gaze lingering on the photos on the wall, before looking back down at the papers. “I am comfortable here. But I know I cannot stay here forever.”

“You sure?” Clint asks, unable to help himself. “Nat’s doing pretty good with that. I mean, I’m pretty sure she’s also pissing off Cap, but it’s not like that hasn’t already happened in the years they’ve known each other.”

Wanda smiles faintly. “It was not what you intended, to bring me here and keep me away from everything,” she reminds him. “You wanted to give me a place to go where I could take care of myself. But I cannot ignore my responsibilities, Clint. You also taught me that.”

Clint laughs quietly. “Yeah, I did,” he admits, looking over at Natasha.

“When you’re ready, we’ll go together,” she says softly, reaching for Wanda’s hand. “Regular air travel, just like when we came here.”

“And when am I supposed to be ready?” Wanda asks smartly. Natasha looks pained, and Clint can tell she doesn’t want to say the words out loud.

“How about one more family dinner and then you can head off tomorrow?” Laura proposes as Lila runs back down the stairs, jumping down the last four steps with vigour.

“Tasha-Nate’s up and he wants to play!” Lila informs her audience, skipping over to take Wanda’s hand in her own. Wanda looks at Natasha and Clint, and then at Laura, and nods.

“Yes. I think that is a good idea.”

Later that night, Laura serves pasta with three cheese sauce, which quickly turns into “Nate gets spaghetti sauce all over his face and clothes while Lila laughs about it,” which sends Laura upstairs for an impromptu bath. While Cooper and Lila continue to scrape long strands of pasta off their plates, Natasha starts cleaning dishes, and Clint takes Wanda aside.

“Here.”

Wanda looks down in surprise as Clint shoves a small bottle into her hands. “What’s this?”

Clint motions to the label. “Prazosin. It’s just a few pills,” he adds hastily off Wanda’s shocked face. “I mean, I don’t want you to get addicted or anything. But in case you need help sleeping --”

“I am capable of finding Benadryl in the compound, Clint,” Wanda interrupts with a small sigh.

“Yeah, I know.” Clint swallows. “But, I mean, if the nightmares get really bad, and if you need something stronger, or if you don’t feel like you can handle yourself one night...I dunno. Just take it, okay? I’d feel a lot better if you had something you could turn to that’s more than just over the counter medication.”

“I did not know you were also a licensed doctor,” Wanda says sarcastically.

Clint shrugs. “I’m pretty sure at this point I’ve taken every painkiller and every antibiotic known to man, so according to Laura and the hospital, I’m kinda like an expert.”

Wanda plays with the pill bottle, before pocketing it carefully. “I think about it every day,” she says quietly. “What could have happened if I hit that building a little harder. I lost my parents because Tony Stark decided to set off a bomb without thinking of the consequences. There were parents that lost their children, because of me. Because I did not think about the consequences of my own powers.”

Clint’s heart aches inside his chest, and he leans back against one of the newly painted walls. “It was only part of the building,” he says, though he knows that’s barely any comfort. “And the number of people killed could have been more. I’ve done worse, Wanda. We’ve all done worse.”

“Maybe,” Wanda agrees, her voice breaking. “But I am still responsible for those deaths. Even if it is only two people, that will always be on me.” She looks down at the floor. “I do not know how to get the nightmares to go away.”

“And I wish I could give you better advice about that,” Clint says in a low voice. “But your mind won’t stop tormenting you, even when you think you can stop remembering all the bad things you did.”

“If you said anything else, I would think you were lying,” Wanda says, taking his hand gently. “You did not have to do this, Clint. You did not have to bring me here. I know things are not going to magically change when I go back. It will be the same as it was when I left. They will still ask questions. The news will still talk about me. I will still feel scared, sometimes.”

“I know,” Clint says helplessly. “But I wanted to do _something_. I couldn’t be in Lagos --”

“Because you were retired.” Wanda squeezes his palm. “Clint, I have seen how Laura looks at you. I have seen how your children look at you. It is a love that you cannot run from. You are supposed to be at home. It is why Pietro saved you.” She puts her other hand on his cheek. “Do not worry too much about me. I can take care of myself, and Natasha will be around if I need help.”

Clint nods, biting down on his tongue so hard he thinks he might draw blood.

“Clint.”

Clint and Wanda turn at the same time, meeting Natasha’s exasperated face. “The kids are asking for ice cream. Because _someone_ apparently promised them they could have sundaes, and it certainly wasn’t me or Laura.”

“Erm.” Clint bites his tongue again for an entirely different reason. “Can I plead the fifth?”

Natasha’s scathing look tells him that no, he can’t, and it also tells him that she’s definitely not cleaning dishes _and_ making sundaes at the same time. It should be annoying, but Clint finds that he wants to kiss her, though he knows he can’t in the moment.

 _What? It’s been awhile_ , he glares when Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up, her eyes dropping to his track pants, where he can feel himself hardening against his will.

In the end, Clint does end up making sundaes, though Wanda helps Laura spoonfeed small bites of vanilla ice cream into the mouth of a now-clean Nate. Natasha chooses the after-dinner movie -- _Wall-E_ , which causes Nate to paw excitedly at the screen while yelling, “ro-wo” every five minutes -- and Laura lets Wanda hold him while Clint glances over every five minutes with encouraging smiles. Cooper stretches out on his stomach in a pillow fort on the floor next to Laura, while Lila curls up with Natasha, eventually falling asleep against her side well before the credits roll.

“Lila sleep with Brownie,” she mumbles into Natasha’s shoulder when she finally rouses her. Natasha smiles, wiping hair from her eyes as Lila hugs her worn stuffed wolf more tightly.

“Come on, baby girl. Me, you and Brownie are all going to bed. That means you too, Coop,” she adds as Cooper drags himself out of his fort and off the floor, following Natasha up the stairs. Laura takes an absolutely not tired Nate from Wanda’s arms and puts him in his bouncer so she can wash bowls and spoons.

“Okay.” Clint turns around after putting cushions back onto couch. “Honest opinion of the robot movie. We’re doing, like, Rotten Tomatoes ranking, so you gotta give a percentage. It’s required.”

“What Clint means,” Laura breaks in from the kitchen, “is that he wants to know how much you liked it on a scale of one to one hundred.”

“Oh.” Wanda looks thoughtful, helping Clint fold a blanket while humming the songs from _Hello, Dolly!_ under her breath. “Maybe a seventy. The robot was cute and I liked the love story. It was very sweet.”

“Modern day romance,” Laura says, wringing her hands and walking back towards them. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a movie suitable for an almost teen and a kindergartener.” She leans against the kitchen archway. “Sometimes, I wish we had less of a gap between the two of them, but, well. It took a few years to figure out how things worked with Cooper.” Clint notices she obviously doesn’t say the other part of that equation, the part that includes Natasha, though he knows it’s implied.

“Your children are perfect just the way they are,” Wanda says quietly. “So is your family.”

Laura smiles. “We’re far from perfect, though people like to think we are,” she replies, winking at Clint. “We have our ups and downs, just like every other marriage. And we’ve had a few rough years. But a good relationship takes time and energy and compromise, and even when Clint’s annoying me because he’s bleached one of my favorite shirts by accident, I always remember he’s also the husband that cooks dinner regularly and brings me flowers when I’m sick.”

Wanda looks at a framed photo on the wall, one of Clint and Laura from some years ago, when Laura’s hair was shorter and a darker shade of brown, and when Clint’s face had less lines. “I know he did not know you well at the time, but if Pietro had to save a family, I am glad it was yours.”

Clint’s throat closes up at Wanda’s words. “Hey, no sappy stuff right now. Save that for when you leave tomorrow. Even then, I might yell at you if you try to get weepy on me.”

“How can I get weepy when I am going to leave all your bad dad jokes behind?” Wanda asks as she heads to her room. Clint barks out a laugh, shoving his hand across his mouth.

“You taught her well,” Laura remarks, moving to stand beside him. She circles a wet hand around his waist. “I’d make fun of you, but I know you’re kind of proud.”

Clint leans into his wife, letting Laura anchor him, watching Wanda disappear up the stairs. “I am,” he admits, placing his chin on top of her head while Laura hugs him more tightly. He kisses her, suddenly content to be nowhere else but home.

 

***

 

Natasha gets up with the roosters and the owls, sometime between five and six in the morning, taking her phone and sneaking out the front door before Clint or Laura or even Lila has a chance to come downstairs and start the day.

“Jesus, do you ever sleep?” Steve asks when she starts the Skype call, settling down on the sharp grass with the phone stretched out in front of her as the chilly morning sets in.

“Look who’s talking, Capsicle.”

“Hey, I slept for seventy years. At this point, any other rest I get is gravy.” Steve shifts, sitting up, and even though Natasha can see that he’s in his room, she can also tell he definitely hasn’t been sleeping.

“Anything else you can tell me about this visit?”

“No,” Steve says, leaning into the phone. “I got notified that the Secretary wants to meet with us, and that’s all I know. That, and the hint he’s making the house call sooner rather than later. Which is why I’d advise you to get back here.”

“I know,” Natasha says with a small sigh. “Don’t worry. I plan to come back today, with Wanda.”

“Wanda. She’s okay?”

Natasha chews on her words. “She’s...better. She knows what to expect from the public, and from the news. But she still needs comfort.”

Steve grimaces visibly. “If you’re expecting me to be Team Dad in this scenario, I’m no Barton.”

“Oh, I didn’t say you were,” Natasha replies lightly. “Trust me. Just be mindful if she feels upset, okay? She can still get triggered by news reports. She needs to know she has people on her side.”

“You think I'm _not_ on her side?” Steve asks with an eyebrow raise. “Wanda isn't the only one who was the product of someone else’s experiment, here.”

“I'm just saying.” Natasha pauses. “It’s not easy for her to see the things she’s done and _not_ think that the world hates her right now.”

“Well, the world hates all of us,” Steve says ominously. “At least, that’s the vibe I’ve been getting from all these reports you left me with. Are you ever going to tell me what you do over there, aside from pulling weeds and driving a tractor? Because it's definitely not work.”

“I do work. I milk the cows, and I grocery shop, and I take care of the baby,” Natasha returns smugly. Steve snorts.

“Isn’t that why Laura doesn’t work regularly anymore? I believe that’s what Wanda told me. Seems like she’s got everything under control with Clint in retirement.”

“What exactly are you implying?”

“Nothing,” Steve replies smoothly. “I just wondered if Laura knows that I’ve walked in on you and Barton sharing the same bed.”

“ _Goodbye_ , Steve,” Natasha says scathingly, ending the call before he can say anything else, trading his telling smirk for a black screen.

Natasha’s chosen an early afternoon flight back to New York, one that has them connecting through Chicago but will at least get them back by dinnertime on their end. Lila drags her feet around all day with a crestfallen face while Wanda and Natasha pack.

“Why does Tasha have to leave again?” Lila asks, watching Wanda bring her small suitcase downstairs. “She just got back.”

Natasha smiles sadly, bending down to meet Lila’s height. “I have to go to work, love. I promise I’ll be home soon, just like last time.”

“But _why_?” Lila asks impatiently as Clint passes through the living room with a watering can, giving her a look.

“You know why. I have to keep the world safe.”

“From the monsters and the bad guys,” Lila recites. “Like the bad guys we learn about in school.”

“Yes,” Natasha acknowledges. They’d fed Lila the same stories they’d told Cooper once upon a time, but Natasha has a feeling that given the fact there was no SHIELD anymore, their real jobs would one day be a little easier to explain.

“Can you keep the world safe from here?”

Natasha’s heart shatters at the sight of the little girl who is staring up at her with a look of love and devotion. “I wish I could, baby girl.” She kisses her forehead. “But you know daddy and mommy are here to protect you, right? And you know I’m not that far away.” She pats her jeans pocket where she keeps the family cell phone, the one that only Cooper and Lila and Clint and Laura have the number for. Lila nods, reaching out for a hug. Natasha pulls her in tightly and then Lila turns to Wanda, who is standing at the door and examining her printed boarding pass.

“I don’t want you to go away, either,” Lila says in a small voice. Wanda’s face settles into a smile.

“I will be back here soon to visit,” she says, walking over and putting a hand on Lila’s head. “I promise. You still have many things to show me, don’t you?”

“Yes. And you need to have your tea party with me,” Lila reminds her, leaning over and hugging Wanda around her legs. When she lets go, Wanda bends down and twists a silver ring in the outline of an oval off her thumb.

“Here,” Wanda says, handing the ring to Lila. “This is something I bought for myself in New York, because I thought it looked pretty. You can have this to keep, if you want.”

“I can?” Lila’s eyes light up as she takes the ring, examining it in excitement.

“What do you say?” Laura encourages, nodding at her daughter from behind and shifting Nate to one arm. Lila gives Wanda a shy smile.

“Thank you,” she says, putting the ring on her small finger. It immediately slips off, falling onto the floor with a loud clatter, and Laura bites back a laugh.

“We might have to put it on a chain, for now,” Laura suggests when Lila picks the ring up and tries to put it back on her thumb again, only to have the same experience. “Bring it upstairs before you lose it, okay Lila baby? And tell your brother to come down before Nat and Wanda have to leave.” Laura motions to Natasha, who recognizes the request as both _help me with something_ and _I want to talk to you in private_.

“Worried I’m going to go off the rails?” Natasha asks, tickling Nate’s chubby cheeks with her index finger while Laura gives her a sharp look.

“Natasha. You’re my wife. I know we’re not exactly public knowledge with people outside of our immediate circle, but don’t ever forget that.”

Natasha tries to smile. “I’m a little concerned about this meeting,” she admits, taking the baby from Laura and moving her head as Nate grabs for her hair with glee. “But I’m not taking on a mission that could mean life or death, and I’m not freaking out that I’m going to be away for so long that everything’s going to go to shit in the meantime.” She scrunches up her face at the words. “Fine, _fine_. One line for me. But since I’m not going to be around, that one line isn’t going to amount to much, right?”

Laura laughs, smoothing back a stray auburn curl. “Not with Clint around,” she says, continuing to run her hand through Natasha’s hair. “No cutting it until you come home, okay?”

“I thought you liked it long,” Natasha responds, fighting a tremor that even after all these years, she can’t help, because Laura’s touch has and always will affect her like no one else’s.

“I do, but ever since you dyed it darker without my permission, I feel like I have to make my requests clear.” She kisses Natasha on the lips, and Natasha lets herself take in the warmth of Laura’s skin, the smell of vanilla-scented coffee and lavender face wash that means _home_. When they break away, Laura picks up the guitar propped up against the wall and puts it in the black carrying case she’d bought earlier in the week.

“A little something for the road,” she says when she returns to the living room, putting the guitar by Wanda’s feet.

“You...I can take it with me?”

“Well, it’s not going to do us much good sitting here,” says Laura with a small smile. “Besides, it’s a good way for you to keep yourself busy when you’re bored.”

“And I’ll totally keep Skyping with you and giving you lessons,” Clint adds. “Maybe you can even play for some of the team.”

Natasha notices a faint blush rising in Wanda’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she says quietly as Laura reaches out to hug her warmly. Clint takes advantage of the moment and of the fact that Cooper is taking longer than usual to come downstairs to announce that he’s bringing Natasha’s bags out to the porch.

“Private time?” Natasha asks as Nate wiggles in her arms, gnawing on her shirt and leaving puddles of drool. Clint shrugs.

“Well, as private as I can get. When you come back, we’ll take care of your lingering needs. I promise.”

“Mmm.” Natasha hums to herself and eyes his goatee. “When I come back, you better have shaved that thing off before I report you to the 17th century authorities. You look like a knock-off version of a Bohemian artist.”

“Brat,” he mutters, and she almost prides herself on the fact that he hasn’t sworn in her presence. “It’s not _my_ needs I’m worried about, you know.”

“I know,” Natasha says quietly as Nate puts his mouth against her collarbone. She holds onto him more tightly as Clint stares out over the farm, his gaze traveling over the golden foliage that’s encroaching on all sides of the house like a spread of brass wings.

“Stay safe, Nat. Whatever this meeting is, whatever they want from us...just stay safe, okay? I know this life doesn’t ever give us a break, but we need you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She puts her hand on Nate’s head, as if she can protect her namesake from the fear that’s been swirling inside of her. It’s less about uncertainty this time and more about a sense of dread that she can’t seem to shake, but it’s also a feeling she doesn’t want to talk about, because she wants to believe she’s making a big deal out of nothing. “I love you, you know.”

She recognizes she doesn’t have to say it, that her commitment to their family and life at the farm was a greater declaration of love than she could ever say with three small words. But she finds herself _wanting_ to share the sentiment, in this moment that, for the time being, is theirs and theirs alone.

“I know.” Clint says, kissing her and Nate in turn. He shifts away with practiced, subtle ease when the door opens behind him.

“Hey, buddy.” Clint relaxes a little as Cooper steps out onto the porch. “Saying goodbye to Nat?”

Cooper nods, walking over and hugging her around the waist, being careful of Nate. “Have fun at work, Tasha.”

“ _Fun_ is not the word I would use for this trip,” Natasha says, glancing up at Clint. “But I’ll try. You promise to be good while I’m gone? And not torment your sister and brother?”

“Bazaaaaaa!” Nate blurts out, as if he’s understood the conversation and is trying to add his own two cents. Cooper’s lower lip juts out.

“That’s no fun.”

“Neither is Natasha jumping out from behind a door and scaring me when I’m holding an entire tray of food,” Clint says as Cooper starts to grin. “Don’t get any ideas, by the way.”

“Nah. Mom would kill me. Well, my other mom.” He cocks his head slightly, gesturing towards the trees. “Hey, I think the cab’s here.”

“Good ears,” Clint mutters, staring at the open road, and Natasha hides a smile. After hearing Clint complain for years about Cooper’s disinterest in archery (at least, until he learned what Clint really did for a living), it had been a comfort of sorts to know Cooper had inherited some of his father’s more useful senses. She passes Nate to Clint with one more kiss and cuddle and then meets the cab halfway down the road, while Clint retrieves Wanda and walks her down the lawn.

“You remember what I said, right?”

“I am telling the fear to go shove itself?”

“Well, yeah.” Natasha catches Clint smiling when she turns around again. “That, and you always have a place and a home here, with us and with me. Never forget that.”

“I do not think you have to worry.” Wanda puts her hand on Nate’s arm and smiles at the baby. “I know the world is a dangerous place, but it is less dangerous when you know you can trust people.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Clint agrees, pulling Wanda in for a hug with one arm. “Hey, don’t let Steve boss you around, okay? Or I’ll have to come out of retirement for real and smack him upside the head.”

“I would like to see you try,” teases Wanda as she picks up her bag and the guitar case. Natasha kisses Clint as subtly as she can and then gets in after giving one more wave to Laura and Lila and Cooper, who are standing on the porch.

“You okay?” Natasha inquires after a long silence as they leave the farm behind, passing the large oak whose branches will eventually hold a treehouse and the clearing where Clint always goes to chop wood, the dirt path eventually petering out into a more paved road gutted with the tire tracks of trucks and cars. Wanda nods.

“Yes,” she answers. “I did not lie about what I told Clint. I know it will still be hard when I come back. People will not stop talking.” She turns her head to gaze out the window again. “But it is good to have family.”

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees quietly, taking Wanda’s hand without thinking about it. Her palms are soft, like Lila’s, like Laura’s, and she thinks of their smiles -- she thinks of Clint’s kisses and Cooper’s hugs and Nate’s baby laughs, and she leans her own forehead against the window, trying to close her mind off to what she knows awaits her when she gets back to New York.

“Yeah, it is.”

 

***

 

Natasha returns to work but Clint doesn’t hear anything more about the Secretary of State's supposed visit, despite frequent calls to both Natasha and Wanda and despite watching the news more closely than usual.

“You’re stressing,” Laura prods gently when Clint not so subtly switches the channel to NBC during breakfast, after Cooper and Lila have left for school.

“I’m _worrying_ ,” Clint argues, turning up the television as if to prove his point. “Am I not allowed to worry? It’s the freaking _Secretary of State,_ Laura. They don’t just pull out the government bigwigs if they want to give you a scolding in this country.”

“I know,” Laura responds gently. “And how many years have we spent together while dealing with situations like this? She’s fine, Clint. They’re both fine. Natasha would call if something happened.”

Clint only half believes Laura’s words, but he knows by now that if he keeps up his current demeanor, he’ll only annoy her more. So he tries to put his anxiety out of his mind, until he’s in the middle of doing daily stretches -- the ones that have been more or less mandated by his doctor in order to keep his joints from freezing up -- and gets interrupted by a text from Natasha’s cell phone.

He leans forward and stares at the screen while his lips thin in worry, then he calls Laura.

“This is good timing,” Laura says amidst the screams of at least two small children, and Clint instantly knows that she’s gotten the same message.

“Tell me about it.”

“Are you -- this is bad, right? Natasha wouldn’t just come home like this all secretively without seeing the kids if it wasn’t bad?”

Clint pauses, trying to temper the fear gnawing at his insides. “Yeah,” he admits and Laura raises her voice over the din of what Clint knows is a loud waiting room.

“Well, I can’t do anything until I get home from the dentist, and they just took Lila about five minutes ago. I’m stuck here with a lot of kids and some _Highlights_ magazines, but if you want to call mom and see if she can pick up Cooper from practice, that would be helpful. He's got a late one after school.”

The moment Laura hangs up the phone, Clint dials Elizabeth, asking about the possibility of taking care of Cooper and Lila.

“Are you going to start paying for my retirement in babysitting money?” Elizabeth asks jokingly before agreeing to come over, and Clint’s too scatterbrained to even attempt a joking retort. Laura walks in the door two hours later with a triumphant Lila, who is smiling widely and displaying a brand new chapter book, along with a big yellow smiley face sticker that proclaims no cavities and a happy, healthy mouth.

“Mommy and daddy are going to go out for a bit,” Clint says after he gives Lila an early bath, drying her hair with a towel before helping her into her nightgown. “So grandma is going to feed you and put you to bed, and we’ll be home to kiss you goodnight later. Are you going to be good and not stay up too late?”

Lila nods as Clint, who is sitting on the toilet seat, turns her around so that he can start to comb through her long, tangled hair.

“Can I call Nat before bed?”

Clint hesitates, because he has no idea where Natasha actually _is_ at the moment -- for all he knows, given the current situation, she could be down the street with no one any the wiser.

“Tell you what,” he says, turning her around so that she’s facing him again. “You can call Natasha tomorrow before you leave for school, as long as you go to bed on time. Is that okay?”

Lila nods and reaches forward, burrowing herself in Clint’s chest. Clint’s caught off guard at the sudden show of intimacy, but hugs her back, his arms pressing against damp hair.

“What was that for?” Clint asks when she raises her head. Lila smiles up at her father.

“Because you gave me a bath and brushed my hair. And Mommy and Tasha said I should always say thank you when people do things for me.”

Clint laughs quietly, pulling her close again. “We’re teaching you too well,” he murmurs, trying to settle his emotions before straightening up. “Let me finish your hair before grandma gets here, okay?”

An hour or so later, after Elizabeth has arrived home with an exhausted but wound-up Cooper, Laura drives Clint to the bar. Neither of them bother to speak during the ride, but Laura holds Clint’s palm and drives one handed the whole way, easily navigating the barely-lit roads that she’s so accustomed to. It’s pointless, Clint knows, to pretend nothing is wrong, when something obviously is, and he appreciates that Laura at least isn’t ignoring that fact. Natasha is waiting for them when they arrive, sitting in a hidden corner booth, and Clint spots her easily -- despite the evening hour, there’s only a handful of people around, most of them regulars or college students who Clint suspects are getting their nights off to an early start.

“How bad?” Clint asks, not bothering with any kind of formal greeting as he slides in across from her, allowing Laura to take the seat next to Natasha. Clint watches Laura curl her hand over Natasha’s arm protectively.

“Remember when I told you I had a bad feeling about Ross?” Natasha asks in a low voice, pushing her phone across the table. Clint feels his brow crease in confusion as he reaches for it, squinting at the blurry photo. It’s hard to see, thanks to the dimness of the bar, but he eventually manages to suss out what looks like a thickly binded booklet, similar to the reports Laura used to create in college.

“What’s this?”

“This,” Natasha says, keeping her voice low as she leans forward, “is why Secretary Ross wanted to meet with us. They’re calling it the Sokovia Accords. It’s a document approved by 117 countries, and it essentially makes us property of the government. Well, more specifically, property of a United Nations panel, who would hold us accountable.”

“What the fuck,” Clint breathes, pushing the phone back across the table, and he notices Laura and Natasha don’t even bother to berate him for his language. “Accountable for _what_?”

“Everything,” Natasha says curtly, and Clint suddenly realizes how tired she looks. “If we sign this, it means we operate only if and when this panel thinks it’s necessary. We’re no longer free to make our own decisions when it comes to where we go or who we help. We let people higher than us tell us what to do, and when to do it.”

Clint’s blood begins to boil, an instinctual reaction he can’t help. “And if we _don’t_ sign?”

Natasha smiles wryly. “Then I guess we retire,” she says quietly, glancing at Laura, who is staring at Clint with an unreadable expression. He clenches his fingers in anger.

“This is because of Wanda.”

“This is _not_ because of Wanda,” Natasha says sharply. “Get out of your dad head for once, Clint. That didn’t help, but this is because of everything that’s happened since New York. Maybe even before New York; god knows Stark has never been quiet when it comes to destroying the world for his own fight.”

“Yeah, so what?” Clint challenges, his gaze flashing dangerously. “You gonna sign? You gonna put us under lock and key? Cause I know how much you love the government, Tasha.”

“I don’t trust the government,” Natasha answers, indicating her phone. “But yes, I’m thinking about it. We need all the protection we can get, and we need to get back on their good side. _Especially_ after Lagos. I’m already on somewhat good terms with Wakanda, and if anything, this can help buy us some time.”

“Jesus, you can’t be serious.”

“Clint, do you think this is any easier for me than it is for you?” He can practically see her nerves fraying, like the fuse of a bomb on the verge of explosion. “I'm trying to keep us from falling apart.”

“Nat, I can't just agree with you about signing off on this thing without any real discussion. I have a _family_ to think about!”

“And so do I!” Natasha’s voice shatters over the last words, and Laura puts her arm around her shoulder. Clint feels helplessly overwhelmed; he knows Natasha hates letting herself fall apart like this, even though she allows both of them to see it often.

“Do you trust Secretary Ross?”

“Of course not,” Natasha says, regaining her composure. “Not in a million years. He called us dangerous, and I’ve been around the block enough to know what’s behind the mind of someone who has no problem saying that kind of thing out loud.”

Clint leans back in the booth, suddenly wishing he had a drink, suddenly wishing he could ask Laura for permission to punch the living daylights out of Ross, or for that matter, every government official. The violence builds up inside of him, and he forces himself to stay calm.

“There’s no way out of this?” Laura asks tentatively, her soft voice pulling Clint out of the white noise his mind is being filled with. Natasha shakes her head.

“We sign, or we don’t. We make a decision, or we don’t. We divide --” She stops, swallowing hard. “We divide, or we don’t.”

“Divide,” Clint repeats, flattening his palm against the table. “Is that what’s happening to the team right now?”

Natasha catches his eye, the warning as clear in her voice as it is in her face -- losing it here, in this moment, is not going to do him any favors.

“Rhodey, Tony, and Vision all signed,” she says after a moment. “Sam refused. Cap’s still debating.”

Clint nods; he’s surprised Steve hasn’t outright rejected the Accords but other than that, the answers are mostly what he expects -- Stark would want oversight, and Vision and Rhodey would side with who they trusted, just like Sam would.

“Dare I ask about Wanda?”

“She’s undecided, and that’s all I got out of her before I came here,” says Natasha. “But, Clint, do you really think Wanda’s going to want the government to look over her? When all she’s heard for at least a month is that she needs to be put in check, because she’s exactly what Ross says we all are?”

Clint falls silent, chewing on his tongue, trying to sort out his thoughts. “Since you made this visit in private, I’m assuming we can’t convince you to stay and see the kids.”

Natasha’s face takes on a grim look. “I need to fly to London,” she says, her voice clipped. “Peggy Carter passed away. The funeral is tomorrow.”

Clint slumps back in the booth, all traces of anger bleeding out of him. It’s not like he knew Peggy any more than he knows Natasha did -- she was a name in the files of SHIELD’s history, a face and voice in the video reels, a presence that was whispered among the halls and in the field. But she had been part of SHIELD’s beginnings, and Clint can’t help but think about the irony that comes with knowing that while their team was falling apart, one of the pillars holding the last of their old lives together had also fallen.

“And after the funeral?”

Natasha looks down at her hands. “I fly to straight to Vienna to meet with the United Nations, so they can ratify these Accords.” She tries to smile. “Guess I’ll miss Saturday waffles this time around.”

Clint breathes out slowly. “Christ, Nat.”

“Clint.” Natasha leans forward. “I’ve been keeping you out of the conversations, because I don’t want to speak for you. But you know that we don’t make decisions for each other, not when we can do so soundly. They’re going to ask, and I need to tell them something, because you’re an Avenger. Even if you’re not active right now, you matter, too. So what do I tell them?”

Clint looks at Laura, whose eyes are filling with unshed tears, and he takes her hand as he glances around the bar. His own eyes grow heavy as he tries to remember the days that seem like centuries ago, the memories he can practically see if he squints hard enough at the dirty walls -- holding empty Corona bottles while throwing darts, laughing about too much homework, falling in love with the simple farm girl from Iowa who never wanted anything more than to love him. He thinks of kissing Natasha, of her helping to make breakfast in the morning, before sneaking off to make love with him and Laura. He thinks of Wanda, the way her face had softened the first time she held the baby named for her brother, the way she had smiled at him the first time he sang with her while she tried to play her new guitar. He thinks of Cooper and Lila and Nate, their innocent requests for baseball game tickets and cookies, the family he never thought he’d have. He takes Natasha’s hand.

“Tell them I’m retired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanda (and Pietro's) backstory taken from the MCU wiki page. Eternal thanks to intrikate88 for offering help and always being a reader for me. Also, Wanda is Jewish, and the MCU can try to pry that from my cold, dead hands.


	5. Chapter 5

The day after Natasha secretly visits, Laura finds Clint lying on the couch, sprawled across the cushions with an ice pack on his leg and another one along his sternum.

“What happened to you?” Laura asks curiously as she closes the door, giving the house a once-over. Clint groans.

“Lila’s friends recruited me for the _Cars_ themed bouncing house at Megan’s birthday party. I think I tore a muscle or ten while I was trying to wiggle my way inside.”

“Poor retired old man,” Laura teases gently, smiling more as Clint’s frown deepens.

“It’s not funny, Laur! It hurts.”

“I’m sure it does.” She removes Nate from his baby bjorn and places him in the Pack n’ Play set up by the couch. “Come here, grandpa.”

Clint grumbles but manages to shift enough so that Laura can sit next to him, removing the ice packs and rubbing her hands over his shoulder and arms.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Tell me that the house runs better when Natasha’s here.”

Laura can’t help but smile. “Well, I’m not going to give you an answer that will make you more grumpy,” she answers. “But also, Natasha probably would have been smart enough not to play in something clearly meant for children. Dare I ask what’s for dinner?”

“Lean cuisines,” Clint says, glaring back at what she knows is a pointed look. “And leftover french fries. What? You think I’ve been able to do anything else besides lie here in agony while listening to them yell at each other?” He jerks his thumb towards the backyard, where Cooper and Lila’s screams are filtering through the windows. “I’m today’s disaster.”

“You’re _every_ day’s disaster,” Laura reminds him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “But I love you.” She pauses, looking over his body again. “You okay?”

“I told you, I’m in pain,” Clint responds, almost in a whine, and Laura sighs loudly.

“I’m not asking you about your body, Clint. What’s going on?”

Clint closes his eyes, breathing slowly. “I don’t know what to do about these Accords.”

“Do you _have_ to do anything?” Laura asks. “I mean...you did say that Natasha was going to tell them you were retired. And that was an option, right?”

“Yeah,” Clint muses. “But I don’t think Ross meant it as an option. I think he meant it as a threat. Conform or don’t conform, and if you don’t, you better not try to get back in the field again. Might as well give up that Starbucks card I never got.” He goes back to staring at the ceiling. “Besides, if Nat signs...”

“You think she will?” Laura asks quietly. Clint shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I can’t see her wanting to back the government. But I know her. She’ll play both sides of this thing, not because she wants to be dubious, but because she’ll want to fix it.”

“And you?”

“I want you to be safe,” Clint says firmly. “I want _us_ to be safe, I want Wanda to be safe. If that means being against the Accords...even if it means being against Natasha…”

“Natasha knows that,” Laura points out, trying to turn her mind off to what it could mean to have the two people she loves on different sides of such an important issue. “Natasha would want you to make the choice to protect your family, Clint. Whatever choice that was.”

“And I once told her that I would kill her, if she snapped and it meant that I had to stop her from hurting you or the kids,” Clint responds. “But now, everything is different. Now, she’d be the one willing to die for us, too.”

Laura stays quiet for a long time, scratching her nails over his chest. “I know I don’t need to say it, Clint, but you’ve been making me proud for years. Every decision you’ve made, whether it’s been about me or the kids or Natasha, or all of us as a family...there’s a reason I love you so much.”

“Because my sex is good enough that we can make three babies, and also because my job got you a wife?”

Laura rolls her eyes. “Well, yes. But everything you’ve done, Clint, you’ve always done it because it was the right thing to do.”

“ _Everything_?” Clint asks pointedly as Laura rests her hand against his neck.

“Well, okay. Maybe not _everything_. I could’ve dealt without you running off and getting stabbed in the stomach in Budapest.”

Clint laughs quietly. “Yeah. Me too.”

Laura sits up, brushing hair back from her eyes. “I want to see what my father knows about Ross.”

Clint turns his head as much as he can, looking up in surprise. “Your dad was in the Air Force, and he’s been retired for years. What makes you think he knows anything about Ross?”

“Nothing,” she says, getting up. “But if I learned anything from being an Air Force kid, it’s that everybody knows somebody. At this point, it can’t hurt to ask. Besides, I’ll kill two birds with one stone and get our weekly visit with the kids in while I’m at it.”

The next morning, while Laura is in the car with Cooper and Lila, who are arguing over the merits of lunch money in the back seat, her phone rings.

“Mom?” Laura answers quizzically, glancing at the caller ID before picking up. “How are you?”

“Laura, honey…” Elizabeth sounds hesitant. “You might want to turn on the news.”

“I’m on my way to drop off the kids at school,” Laura says a little impatiently, because it’s not like her mother doesn’t know about morning rituals. “Can it wait?”

“When you came here the other day to ask your father about that friend from the government, didn’t you say something about Natasha going to Austria?”

Laura’s heart leaps into her throat and she curses without thinking, causing Lila to squeal happily in the back seat.

“Mommy sweared a bad word!”

“Lila, remind mommy she needs to mark her chart when she gets off the phone,” Laura replies, glancing into the rearview mirror. Her daughter is grinning and Cooper’s head is bent forward, his nose literally buried in the book she hadn’t let him finish during breakfast.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s been some explosion in Vienna...something about a U.N. conference. It just broke on the morning news.” A distorted transmission bleeds into Laura’s ears as Elizabeth presses the phone to the television screen.

“Oh my god,” Laura mutters, her knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. She can barely make out the words, but the seriousness of the newscaster’s voice and the sirens in the background can’t be ignored. “Did this...did this just happen?”

“I’m not sure,” her mother answers. “They said they just got word of the attack, but it could have been hours ago. Should I call Clint?”

Laura considers the thought, because as much as she wants Clint to know about this now -- as much as he _deserves_ to know about this now -- the last thing she wants to do is send him into a panic while he’s alone.

“No,” she decides finally. “I’ll tell him myself when I get home.”

“Mom!” Cooper’s sharp voice cuts through her thoughts. “You just missed the turn!”

Laura slows to a stop in front of an intersection and takes a few deep breaths, trying to refocus her mind on what she knows is here and now: Her children. Morning rituals. Coffee.

“Mom, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” She hangs up and then turns around to meet her son’s annoyed face. “Sorry, Coop. My fault. Grandma distracted me.”

“I’m gonna be late for school, and it’s all because of Lila!”

“Liar! Mommy told me to get in the car while you were eating and I was ready before _you_ were.”

“It is  _not_ your sister’s fault,” Laura interrupts, raising her voice. “There was traffic, and mommy was distracted.” She gathers as much of her composure as she can, making a concise three-point turn and driving back towards the road that leads to the town’s middle school. After Cooper has been dropped off (with a forced goodbye that Laura at least gets a kiss out of) and after Lila has been taken to elementary school (with a hug that Laura tries to make last a little longer, just because), she drives home while attempting to both calm her mind and not break every single speed limit.

“Clint? Clint!”

She can’t keep the panic out of her voice and doesn’t bother to try as she opens the front door. He races down the steps, taking them two at a time, sweat and blue paint smeared along his forehead.

“Laura, what happened? Are the kids -- is everything okay?”

Fumbling for the remote lying on the couch, she turns on the television, hastily flipping through the channels until she finds a news station. Clint stands beside her, rubbing one hand over his open mouth.

_“Authorities are still trying to figure out exactly what happened around 2 p.m. here in Vienna, that’s when an explosion occurred at what was supposed to be a special United Nations conference where 117 countries had come together to ratify the Sokovia Accords. Now, as far as we know, the death toll is still unconfirmed, though we have received reports that Wakandan King T’Chaka was killed in what is believed to have been a targeted attack by a former terrorist known only as James Buchanan Barnes. The document in question, which has been set into place by Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross, would regulate enhanced individuals --”_

Clint mutes the television and starts pacing the living room. Laura watches warily, unsure if he’s going to explode or simply stew in silence and fear.

“It’s okay,” Laura murmurs, letting out a shaky breath when the quiet stretches on. “Natasha will be okay.”

“Natasha is not indestructible, Laura, and that was a goddamn bomb that went off!”

“I know,” Laura placates, walking closer and putting her arms around his waist. “I know, Clint.” She shifts her gaze towards the stairs. “Come with me.” She squeezes his middle, expecting him to protest, and is surprised when he lets her pull him towards the guest bedroom.

“Hey, little man.” Laura smiles at the sight of her son holding himself up by the rails of his crib. “Did daddy scare you before, when he ran away?” She reaches over and picks up the baby, settling him against her chest while Clint leans against the doorway. “Daddy was being silly. No one would ever run away from you.”

“She should’ve called,” Clint says in a low voice, and Laura sits down while Nate grins and pats her cheek.

“Maybe she can’t,” Laura offers.

“Bullshit, she can’t. It’s not midnight in Vienna, this thing probably happened hours ago! She wouldn’t _not_ call us.”

“Clint --”

The shrill ringing of the house phone startles both of them enough to jump, and despite being attached to her child, Laura manages to grab for the receiver first, reaching towards the bedside table.

“Hello?”

“Laura.”

“Oh my god, Nat.” At the sound of Natasha’s voice, Laura can’t help but break, and she thinks she might cry and throw up at the same time. Clint hurries to grab Nate, bringing him back to the crib while Laura presses the speaker button with shaking fingers.

“Natasha, thank god. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do better,” Clint cuts in loudly. She watches his face, a mixture of worry and anger, and sees herself reflected in his gaze.

“Bruised collar bone, slight concussion, a few surface lacerations. And, unsurprisingly, I feel like hell. But I’ll live. I got lucky.”

“No shit,” Clint mutters as he sits down next to Laura, who doesn’t even bother to make a jab about adding another mark to the swear chart. “The explosion -- the news said it was Barnes.”

“Is that what you heard?” Natasha asks casually and Laura recognizes the tone as one that Natasha uses when she has to make private calls in public places. Laura glances at Clint, who finds her eyes and translates silently: _Yes, it was._ She decides to let him take the reigns on the conversation; even if Natasha was calling from a burner -- which Laura suspects she is, given that the number on the screen isn’t one she recognizes -- she wouldn’t be so glib as to run her mouth in an area that could be potentially compromised.

“I figured you might have heard something on the news,” Clint responds. “It’s only early morning, here.”

“I haven’t heard anything yet. I’ve been too busy taking care of people who were injured,” Natasha says. This one, Laura somewhat gets, having been around Clint and Natasha long enough to understand spy conversation: _We don’t know where he is, but other people might._

“How many people are going to the hospital?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha answers. “But I’m going to find out. A man I had been talking to hurt himself badly, and I want to see if he’s okay. I'm not sure where they took him after the explosion.” There’s sudden commotion in the background, and it sounds like Natasha’s talking to someone in a low murmur.

“Nat --”

“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go.” She hangs up quickly and Clint immediately slumps forward. Laura puts a hand on his back, resting her fingers against his skin, because comfort has always been the one thing she could provide her husband during times when his work overwhelmed him.

“She said Cap’s going after Barnes,” he says in a low voice. “He’s probably being tracked, too.”

Laura sucks in a breath. “Barnes is an assassin.”

“Of course he is,” Clint says abruptly, his eyes flashing as he looks up. “But, I mean, Cap’s just going after his best friend, right? The one that’s a potential killing machine? _Clearly_ , no one’s thinking about how he could possibly come after us or find the farm while he’s out there, unhinged.”

“ _Clint_ ,” Laura says warningly, even though she doesn’t really think it’s out of the question for him to feel worried about that. She puts her hand on his knee and squeezes it gently. “Do you want to call Wanda?”

Clint looks conflicted, and then grimaces. “No. If she’s not involved in this directly, I’d rather not worry her. I’ll call her later, when I know more about what’s going on.”

Laura nods. “Okay,” she says softly and Clint exhales.

“This is probably a bad time to assume you got nothing on Ross.”

Laura shakes her head. “Not really. Dad said the name was familiar, and he thinks he even ran into him at some dinner when he was on base. But he was way above any kind of access my dad ever had while he served. After Ross retired from the Armed Forces, President Ellis made him Secretary of State, and he’s basically been at another level ever since.”

“Figures,” Clint mutters dejectedly. Laura continues to run her hands up and down his back, eventually making a fist and dragging her knuckles over his spine as Nate makes noises in his crib.

“Why don’t we go up to the lake house this weekend?”

Clint looks up with a glare. “The lake house? Seriously? It’s _September_ , Laur.”

“Early September,” Laura corrects, kissing him on the neck. “And according to the weather reports, this is the last weekend global warming is supposed to work in our favor. It’s going to be near seventy. The water might be a little cold, but there’s no reason we can’t go up there and at least relax. You can grill, we can let the kids play outside, we can take the boat out and do some fishing. Lila can hunt for pinecones with Nate, and you can spend some time working on the roof, if you want. Plus, the leaves are beautiful this time of year. And --”

“And?”

 _“And_ you’re retired, remember?”

Clint tries to smile, and Laura smoothes down his hair.

“Look, I’m not trying to tell you that you shouldn’t worry about what happened with Natasha,” Laura says softly. “I’m just saying, maybe it’ll be good for you to get your mind off this stuff for awhile. I know you have all your projects here, but sitting around and freaking out isn’t good for you. Right now, we know that Natasha is safe, and we know that Wanda is safe, too. That’s what’s important, right?”

Clint nods. “Yeah.”

“It’s important that this family _stays_ a family. That includes you being a parent, and focusing on the kids, and on me.”

Clint bows his head, letting out a quiet laugh. “Sometimes I think you know me too well.”

Laura smiles, kissing him again. “Well, I would hope so. I’ve only been married to you for way too long.”

 

***

 

Clint calls Wanda later that night, while Laura puts the kids to bed.

“How are you doing?” he asks after obligatory small talk, including a run-down of Wanda’s new favorite shows on Netflix and Cooper’s new history teacher.

“Okay,” Wanda says carefully. Clint threads sore fingers through his hair, frowning.

“How are you, _really_?”

“Really?” Wanda pauses. “I will not lie to you, Clint. I am okay. I heard about the bombing.”

“Well, yeah,” Clint says before realizing how casual he sounds. “But I mean, you’re good? No one’s come to you or anything, right?”

“No,” says Wanda. “Not directly, at least. And not about that. Steve has gone to Vienna --”

“I know,” Clint interrupts. He’s not exactly worried that his regular phone line is going to be compromised at this point, but old habits die hard, and he feels better being less specific. Plus, he realizes the last thing he wants to do is ask Wanda about the Accords and get into a discussion that he knows will probably frustrate him.

“Oh.” Wanda sounds surprised. “Right. Of course you do.”

“Sorry,” Clint apologizes. “I, uh. I know that sounded kind of rude. I didn’t mean to --”

“Vision has stayed with me,” Wanda says, smoothly bypassing an acknowledgement of his apology. “So I am not completely alone. It has been nice, spending time together. I have been able to relax.”

“Vision?” Clint can’t help as his lips turn up. “Have you and him --”

“We have only been watching movies, like you suggested. When I have sex, you will be the first to know,” Wanda interrupts. “Is that okay?”

Clint barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess. Look, I wanted to let you know that the kids and I are going away this weekend.”

“Going away?” Wanda’s voice turns curious. “Can I ask why?”

“Because we need a break.” The moment he says the words out loud, he knows that, despite everything, Laura had been right when she suggested the getaway. “There's a family lake house that we go to sometimes. We’ll probably be a little out of commission, but, I mean, if you need me...you know I’m always here.”

“I appreciate it.” Wanda sounds grateful and a little relieved. “But I think I will be okay. I am trying to teach Vision how to cook.”

“Oh, yeah?” Clint smiles again. “How’s he doing?”

“Well, he is not as good at making pot pie as you are,” Wanda admits, and Clint snorts.

“Tell that to Laura, so I can hold it over her head for days. She _still_ makes fun of me for the one time I ruined Cooper’s dessert, because I thought salt was sugar.”

“I will give her a call,” Wanda says teasingly. “Tell the kids I said hello and that I miss them.”

“Will do," Clint promises. "Don’t spend too much time on _Mad Men_ , by the way. I know the drama’s addicting, but it can get incredibly depressing after awhile.”

“That is part of why I enjoy it,” Wanda says, before hanging up the phone.

Clint manages to send Natasha a message letting her know where they’re going, and isn’t surprised when the only response he gets is a short, standard “good.” He tries not to take it personally; he knows she’s most likely up to her eyeballs in political red tape and other things he’s not quite sure of in the wake of the Accords bombing. Unlike him worrying about her, _she_ was aware he was stable and safe with Laura at the farm. Clint stops himself from asking nagging questions about what Steve is doing, and tries not to worry about facing a metal-armed assassin every time he opens the door, knowing the first thing Natasha would tell him if she was here would be to get on with his life and “act retired.”

So, Clint does. He spends more money than he probably should on food at CostCo and helps Cooper create a roadtrip mix on iTunes, and Laura drives them to the lake house on Friday afternoon, once Cooper and Lila have returned from school. He can’t help but smile when his children elbow their way out of the minivan, running towards the modestly-sized cabin while kicking up dirt and leaves. Aside from taking Natasha to the house separately for their vow renewal and makeshift wedding, they hadn’t spent nearly enough time here other than a few vacations.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Laura asks as she gets out of the car, watching Cooper open the door using the key hidden in the cubbyhole blocked by the bird feeder. “To see them like this?”

It is, Clint realizes, feeling his heart swell as Lila and Cooper charge into the house with excitable yells. He lets Laura squeeze his arm.

“Hard to believe it’s been so long since we’ve started coming here.”

“I know,” Laura says with a small smile. “Hard to believe this is where you asked me to marry you, too. You almost fell out of the boat, you were so nervous.”

“It was a big deal!” Clint protests as Laura opens the door to take Nate from his car seat. “Besides, your dad totally freaked me out.”

“Wuss,” Laura teases as she passes him, dumping the baby unceremoniously into his arms. By the time Clint makes his way into the house, Cooper and Lila have shed their socks and shoes in uncoordinated puddles on the floor.

“I wanna go water skiing!”

“Patience, kiddo.” Clint ruffles Cooper’s hair with one hand as he throws a glance to the lake. “It might not be warm enough for that.”

“But you promised! You said I was old enough now!”

“I also made that promise when it was the middle of July,” Clint reminds him, remembering the conversation that had come out of Cooper signing up for watersports at summer camp. “Let me test out the temperature later and we’ll see, okay? If it’s warm enough, I promise we’ll go sometime this weekend.”

Laura brings in the cooler and bags of food, along with their suitcases, and helps the kids settle in while Clint takes a walk around the house with Nate, doing a compulsory check to make sure everything’s still in order from the last visit. By the time he walks back inside for the second time, Lila has changed into a bright yellow swimsuit and pink flip flops.

“We’re testing the water, daddy!” Lila yells and Laura holds up a hand.

“Hold it,” she says in a no-nonsense voice as her daughter skids to a halt halfway to the door. Clint has to stop himself from smiling, because he knows what’s coming. “Just because we’re away for the weekend, it doesn’t mean our house rules stop. What are the five rules that we keep even when we’re not at home?”

Lila and Cooper exchange glances and start talking over each other.

“Bedtime is at nine --”

“-- _Coop’s_ bedtime is nine, mine is seven --”

“No yelling inside.”

“No eating on the furniture, an’ if you make a mess, clean it up and tell mommy or daddy.”

“No going outside or leaving the house without asking you first.”

“No bothering mom and dad when the bedroom door’s closed,” Cooper finishes triumphantly. Laura nods in approval and then lowers her hand.

“Anything I missed, dad?”

“No, but I’m incredibly turned on right now,” Clint admits, suddenly wishing he wasn’t stuck holding a six-month-old. Laura smacks his arm as she follows her kids outside.

“They’re happy,” she says when she crawls into bed later, after they finish putting Cooper and Lila to sleep. She presses her head to the pillow, gazing up at Clint with tired eyes and an expression that signals she’s exhausted but clearly content. “I can’t remember I saw the last time Cooper smile this much.”

“He just liked my hot dogs,” Clint boasts and Laura rolls her eyes, pulling the covers down.

“They were good hot dogs, but it wasn’t just that, Clint.” Laura snuggles up against him. “I think it helps them, to be away. When we’re at the house, they feel the difference when Nat’s not there. I can tell.”

Clint swallows down a lump in his throat. “I know,” he says softly. “It’s never going to be an easy life like this, Laura. Even with her commitment to us. Not unless…”

“I know,” Laura repeats. “They’ll have to get used to it, the same way they got used to you leaving.” She laces their fingers together. “But they know she’s their mother. And you always come back. And Nat will always come back.”

“We will,” Clint promises, because he can’t imagine that after all this time and after so many years, that's something that would change. Laura sighs quietly, bringing their interlocked hands to her face as she closes her eyes. Clint lies awake listening to the whistling breeze of autumn wind and the steady sound of lapping waves, and tries to forget about the rest of the world.

 

***

 

In the end, Barnes gets away, and Natasha isn’t all that surprised.

She thinks about calling Clint, before talking herself out of the idea, knowing it’s more of a fight-and-flight response than anything else -- even when they had been on different missions, she had always found a way to reach out. Or, in other cases, she had called Laura. That one, she knows, is even less of an option at the moment, and so she removes the thought from her brain before she can fully consider it.

 _It’s all falling apart_ , she thinks, as she locks herself in the bathroom at Berlin's intelligence headquarters, splashing water on her face to hide impending tears. She rests her hand over the necklace that Laura had given her, the metal orb cool against her fingers, and it soothes her the same way the arrow necklace did when she wore it religiously. She suddenly longs to be back at the farm, to be back at the dusty, dirty bar that held so many memories; she wishes she was sitting in the backseat of the minivan driving to the lake house with Clint and Laura and screaming babies and loud children’s music on repeat.

“I’d even take Lila getting carsick on me again,” she muses in an attempt to lift her spirits, before deciding she's composed enough to leave the bathroom. She’s surprised to find the facility mostly quiet; there are a few officers milling around but otherwise, there’s little to no activity, save for Tony Stark sitting alone at the conference room’s large glass table. As Natasha gets closer, she notices he looks both worried and forlorn, and she can’t help thinking about how even as little as two years ago, he would have never let anyone see his emotions so plainly.

 _Maybe I’m just learning how to read him better_ , Natasha thinks wryly as she takes a seat at the table. It’s hard sometimes to remember that aside from Clint, she’s known Tony the longest of any of her teammates.

“How are you doing?”

“Well.” Natasha swallows painfully as she looks around the room. “I survived a freak bombing, had to be a government-regulated bitch to my friends, and then I was strangled by a brainwashed assassin who was responsible for said bombing, all in less than twenty-four hours. How do you _think_ I’m doing?”

“Sorry I asked,” Tony says with a wince. “I’ve been there, you know.”

“I know.” Natasha smiles grimly, her eyes darting to his chest before they settle on his face. His skin is deathly pale and there’s a fresh bruise coloring the corner of his eye, and she feels a sudden wave of compassion. For as much as she knows Tony is competent enough to protect himself out of a suit, she also knows he isn’t used to fighting so violently with no back-up -- at least, not in the same way her and Sharon are. She closes her eyes, relishing in the rare lull that she knows won’t last.

“How long til Ross comes to yell at us?”

“Realistically?” Natasha opens her eyes and checks her watch. “Five minutes from an hour ago. He’s not going to be happy.”

“Of course he’s not going to be happy,” Tony snaps, leaning back in his chair. “Barnes escaped, Cap’s basically a fugitive, and it’s _my_ head that’s on a platter. All because Cap couldn’t keep his stubborn star-spangled ass in one place without trying to be a righteous savior. I tried to fix this, I offered him a way to bring us back together. I tried to _protect_ us, and he had to go and fuck it all up!”

“He wasn’t thinking straight,” Natasha argues, though she knows this was always how it was supposed to go. There was never going to be any outcome where Steve _didn’t_ choose anything except Bucky. “You would’ve done the same thing if it was Rhodey in that cell.”

Tony gives her a look. “Like you would’ve done the same thing if it was Clint?”

“I _have_ ,” she says shortly, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “You were just too busy trying to fix a downed helicarrier to notice. _Everyone_ was. Or do I need to remind you of what else happened that day that you were unaware of?” It’s cruel, she knows, bringing up Coulson’s death despite his apparent resurrection, but she’s tired and she’s frustrated. In any case, the words seem to have their intended effect, and Tony sobers.

“You know, it’s times like these I could really use a Pepper Potts.”

Natasha manages a half-smile. “So that she could talk you out of doing something stupid?”

Tony tries to laugh. “Yeah. Bet you’re missing a Clint Barton right about now.”

 _And a Laura Barton_ , she thinks, wishing she could tell Tony that as much as Clint was her partner in more ways than one, Laura was and had always been the rational centerpiece of Natasha’s world.

“He’d let me do the stupid things, because he knows I’d punch him if he tried to stop me,” Natasha says after a long pause. She flashes him another smile, one that feels a little more genuine. “Besides, he can’t really afford more stories that end with him being bested. He’ll be in the dog house for life.”

Tony smiles back and then takes off his glasses, his hands working over his goatee. “Can I ask you a question? I mean, you know, while we’re actually allowed to talk as friends without having our conversations monitored by the government?”

“I’m sorry, did you just call me a friend?” Natasha asks with an eyebrow raise. “I didn’t think Tony Stark had friends that weren’t androids or former MIT party boys.”

“Funny, Romanoff. You know, your sense of humor has really improved since you spied on me all those years ago. You actually know how to banter, now.”

“You never saw me while I was killing people,” she trades. “But I will answer your question.”

“I’m flattered.” He pauses to regard her carefully. “Look, we’re better than we were in the past, but I know I’m still not your favorite person.”

“That’s true,” Natasha remarks dryly, and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Not the point. You’re closer to Cap, and you’ve worked with him and Wilson. I get that. So why are you on my side with this? Because if I recall correctly, you could give two shits about the government.”

Natasha bites down on her lip, trying to figure out how to put the words she wants to say into a sentence that makes sense and doesn’t give away everything she can’t admit. “I need to keep this family together,” she starts slowly. “Staying together is more important than how we stay together. Cap…” She trails off. “What I have with this group, with the Avengers, it’s one of the only good things I’ve done with my life, aside from working with Barton. It took a long time to get here. I don’t want to throw that away because of some stupid document that we don’t agree on. We can still save this.”

“Save this.” Tony snorts. “Barton’s still not in favor of the Accords, I presume.”

“He’s retired,” Natasha responds. “He has a family.”

“And you just called us your family,” Tony points out. “You also gave your support for oversight. Wouldn’t he want the same thing, if he cared about his family?”

“You don’t know _anything_ about Clint’s family,” Natasha snaps, a hot curl of protective anger bristling inside of her. “His choice is personal.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Tony all but snaps back. “So enlighten me, Romanoff, because it sounded like your choice was personal, too. What’s the difference?”

Natasha attempts to curb her frustration, locking into his gaze. “The difference is, his family isn’t involved. The difference is, my family _is_ involved, and I need to fight for them.” Her phone rings shrilly as she finishes speaking and Natasha pulls it out as she walks away, both glad for the distraction and puzzled at the non-descript number. Clint would most certainly call from either his cell phone or the landline at the lake house.

“Romanoff.”

“Steve.” Natasha drops her voice to a hiss, hunching over and continuing to move away from Tony. “Steve, what the _hell_ \--”

“Natasha, I’m not going to tell you where I am.”

Natasha takes a breath, letting it out slowly. “I know,” she says quietly. “And it’s better that you don’t tell me, anyway. Ross is going to come chew us out and the less I know about what’s really going on with you, the better.”

“Trust me,” Steve responds in the same quiet tone. “We don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

“We,” Natasha mutters. “Do me a favor, Steve. You have Barnes now, and I know you want to keep him safe. But please, don’t keep making things worse. It’s already bad enough, and I don’t even know what Ross is going to say to us.”

“Natasha.” Steve’s voice softens and the sound causes her to feel antsy, because she knows there has to be a reason for his gentleness. “Wanda’s being kept under house arrest.”

Natasha’s heart skips a few beats. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she can’t leave the compound,” Steve clarifies. “Tony’s keeping her under lock and key until this is all straightened out, because he doesn’t want the world to...well, you know.”

“What? Get scared?” Natasha spits out angrily, because she _does_ know. She does know, because the world once wanted to keep her out. The world once wanted to keep Clint, the brainwashed dangerous Avenger, out. She glances up to find Tony still pacing, looking down at his own phone, and feels the rage vibrating through her bones.

“You told me that I needed to look out for her,” Steve continues. “So I’m telling you what’s going on, because I don’t think he will. She’s just a kid, Nat. This isn’t fair.”

 _She needs help_ , is what Steve is saying, but isn’t. Whether it’s because he doesn’t want to complicate what’s left of Wanda’s agency or whether it’s because of the fact that he doesn’t want to say too much in front of whoever he’s with, Natasha can’t tell.

“Quite a change from you calling and telling me she was just a kid who was ready to go into battle when it mattered to you,” Natasha says, unable to keep the bite from her voice.

“That was Wanda’s choice,” Steve returns with an equal bite. “She _wanted_ to fight. This _isn’t_ her choice. She’s being imprisoned against her will, when she’s done nothing wrong, because Tony doesn’t trust her. He’s proving exactly what Ross wants the entire world to believe about us. How do you think that’s going to make her feel when she finds out? We’re supposed to be the ones that have her back, and instead, we’re acting like we’re no better than the people who have judged her for her abilities.”

“So what are you asking me to do?” Natasha presses, because she needs to be completely sure of what he’s requesting before she goes any further with the conversation. “Do you want me to go help her?”

“Yes,” Steve answers. “If you can. I know you’re trying to deal with Ross right now, but --”

“I can’t go help Wanda,” Natasha says, the anger in her gut turning to pure pain as she says the words. “But I know someone who can.”

 

***

 

Saturday morning at the lake house dawns early enough that Laura’s up and out of bed before Clint, dealing with not only a too-awake baby but also two over-excitable children who harbor visions of beach days and homemade ice cream. He lies alone and lets Laura take care of breakfast and coffee, only emerging when the smell of eggs starts to waft its way in from the open window, and he realizes Laura must be serving the kids their meals outside.

“Dad!” Cooper practically jumps up from the picnic bench when his father wanders towards them. “Look at the frog I caught this morning!”

“He’s been dying to show you since he woke up,” Laura adds with a tired look as Clint walks over, bending down to look into the shoebox Cooper is holding. He peers through the large knifed holes.

“Hey, cool! What’s that one, kiddo?”

“It’s an American Toad,” Cooper proclaims proudly. “Mom helped me look him up on her phone. She said grandpa used to catch frogs here all the time!”

“Oh, yeah?” Clint takes a moment to be grateful he’s taken the time to put on an old SHIELD sweatshirt -- it’s not quite cold enough to warrant jacket weather, but it’s definitely chilly enough to cause goosebumps, especially in places where the sun hasn’t quite hit yet. “Well, grandpa has a lot of secrets you kids don’t know about.”

Laura gives him a scathing look that he ignores in favor of kissing his kids.

“ _Daddy_!” Lila’s staring at him, a forkful of eggs clutched in one hand, and she shoves them into her mouth, chewing and swallowing before hopping off the bench. “Up!”

“Getting a little greedy there, Lila baby?” He’s answered with a grin and lifts her anyway, settling her on his shoulders as Lila places two hands on top of his head. Laura manages to give him her best _go get more coffee_ plea, and he wanders back towards the house, where she’s left a still-hot carafe sitting on the front steps.

“When’s Auntie Nat coming back? I want her to swim with me.”

“Soon,” Clint lies, being careful to sound noncommittal. Lila makes a sad noise in the back of her throat.

“I don’t want her to miss Halloween.”

“Aunt Tasha isn’t going to miss Halloween,” Clint assures her as he bends down carefully to pick up the coffee, making sure to keep Lila steady. “That’s still a long time from now, and she’s never gone that long. You know that.”

“I know, but I _miss_ her. I miss your friend Wanda, too.”

Clint’s not sure what to do with that one, because he hates promising his children things that he doesn’t have complete control over, and Wanda being able to come back to the farm was a variable that was very much dependent on how fucked up the world got in the next few days or weeks.

“Wanda will be back soon, too,” Clint decides. “Hey, maybe we can have her over for Christmas this year. Or Thanksgiving. Me, you, mommy, Tasha and Wanda -- do you want me to ask her about that?”

“Yeah!” Lila agrees happily and Clint breathes a sigh of relief as he carries the carafe back to where Laura is sitting at the table, eating with Cooper while holding Nate on her lap. Clint pours two cups of coffee and then lets Lila down from his shoulders, though not before forcing his daughter to repay him in multiple kisses.

“I’m going for a run,” Laura announces after breakfast has been cleaned up and the kids have been sent back inside to change. She transfers Nate to his arms, trading the baby for a bottle of water. “I won’t be long, but can you keep an eye on the kids until I get back? Maybe we can do dinner early tonight.”

“Course.” Clint leans over to kiss her on the cheek, fingering her long ponytail. “Does that mean when you get back, I get to claim shower sex?”

Laura grins as she pulls away. “Maybe we can start with a massage, first. It’s been awhile since I’ve stretched, if you know what I mean.”

While Laura runs, Clint lets Cooper and Lila help change and feed Nate. When he eventually leads his children to the small sandy beach a few steps away from the house, Lila plops down instantly with a collection of plastic buckets while Cooper wanders towards the water’s edge. Clint sits down on a thick log, casting a watchful and wary eye towards his oldest son.

“Hey, dad!” Cooper’s shielding his eyes against the sun as he turns towards his father. “Paul at school said that by the time I’m a grown-up, we’re going to be using flying cars to get to places. Then we’ll be able to _fly_ to the lake house with Nate.”

“That’s not true!” Lila yells from the beach. “That’s dumb _boy_ logic. You can’t fly in a car.”

“Can too! There are Internet reports and everything!”

“You’d be surprised,” Clint mutters to himself, half-wondering if Cooper has stumbled upon Howard Stark’s old videos. He lets Nate squirm against him, propping the baby up and steadying him on his legs.

“Nathaniel Pietro,” he sings, letting his children’s yells and occasional playful squabbles fill his ears. His son’s face splits into a goofy grin, and Clint grins back, bouncing him up and down. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even feel his cell phone vibrating in his pocket, until it buzzes particularly hard against his thigh. Laura's taken her phone with her to run -- she never used to, but recent events had made Clint more paranoid than usual when it came to Laura disappearing for long periods of time -- but the multiple missed calls aren’t from Laura or even her parents.

“Coop, watch your sister,” he calls out as he gets up, a boulder of fear starting to amass in his stomach. He tries to keep his gait as normal as possible as he backs up, moving enough so that he can still keep an eye on his kids without being overheard.

“Hi,” Natasha says when she answers. Her voice sounds tired but, Clint notices, not overly worrisome.

“Hi yourself,” Clint responds as Nate squeals loudly, distracted by Clint’s phone. “Why are you calling?”

“What, you thought I’d leave you out of all the fun?” Natasha asks, and this time, Clint picks up on the distinct sound of fear hidden in her teasing.

“Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Natasha says after a long pause. “I’m -- this is one of Stark’s phones, but he’s overriding the system for me. The line is blocked, so you’re safe to talk about things, if you want.”

“And you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Natasha breathes, though her voice sounds needy and vulnerable, an emotion Clint knows she would only allow him or Laura to detect. He tries not to think about the last time he heard her sound like that: huddled on a quinjet after her mind had been taken advantage of, before he brought her and everyone else back to the farm.

“Then I want to talk about why you’re calling, not just about _things_ ,” Clint says, looking up. Cooper has waded further into the lake and is squatting down in the shallow waters, splashing his sister harmlessly. Lila's standing at the edge of the wet sand, glaring impudently.

“I’m --” Natasha stops, taking a breath. “I’m calling about Wanda.”

“Wanda?” Clint’s brow furrows. “I spoke to her before we came up here. She said she was fine. Probably a little sick of _Mad Men_ by now, but she won’t take my advice to start _Grey’s Anatomy_ even though I swore to her it doesn’t get totally terrible until at least the fifth season. That’s when they kill off George and everything --”

“Clint,” Natasha interrupts urgently. “Steve told me that Tony’s keeping Wanda under house arrest.”

“He -- _what_?” Clint can’t help the barking response and Nate reacts immediately, his face crumpling as he starts to wail. “Shit,” Clint mutters as he bounces his son steadily, hoping his other children won’t run over and try to help soothe their sibling. “Come on, kiddo, I got you...daddy’s got you...it’s okay, little man. You’re okay.”

Natasha remains quiet on the other end of the line until Nate shifts from outright sobbing to heavy sniffling, and when Clint speaks again, he tries to keep his voice as calm as possible.

“Why in _God’s_ name is Stark keeping her locked up, Nat?”

“I’d assume it’s along the same lines of why Ross wants us to sign these Accords,” Natasha responds. “He thinks she’s a weapon and he doesn’t want...you know Stark, he can’t see people as _people_.”

“Try again,” Clint says, because he knows Natasha well enough to understand this isn’t just a warning call. “What _aren’t_ you saying?”

He can almost see her face, the way she’s probably biting her lip, her eyes darting around to whoever is in her vicinity. “He thinks she’s dangerous, Clint. He doesn’t trust her. And he doesn’t want the world to know she’s walking around in broad daylight, potentially able to throw an energy blast at someone and kill them.”

“Wanda wouldn’t do that,” Clint defends automatically.

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Natasha returns. “I know that, and you know that, and Steve knows that. And I think even Tony probably knows that, but do you think the world _cares_?”

“Does --” Clint stops, unsure if he wants to know the answer to the question he needs to ask. “Does Wanda _know_ she’s being kept there against her will?”

“You mean, did he call and ask permission?” Natasha asks sarcastically. “No. But if she isn’t already aware, she’ll find out. I don’t know how long she’s been confined. Sooner or later, she’ll try to leave. And someone -- or something -- will break it to her.”

Clint falls quiet. His violent streak is tingling, burning waves of rage unfurling throughout his limbs, and half of him wants to break something while the other half wants to give in to his emotions and cry, because it’s not fair, any of it -- not Wanda’s house arrest, not Natasha’s absence, not the fact that he knows he’s going to have to make a choice between his family and his work and someone else he _also_ considers his family.

“Clint.”

He lets his son orient him, Nate’s babbling cries and small hands on his skin rooting him to the present. “Yeah.”

“She needs someone to go help her. It can’t be me. I have to...this is all a mess.”

Clint can’t help himself from sounding frustrated. “You knew that was going to happen.”

“No, I didn’t,” Natasha replies just as curtly, though there’s an undercurrent in her voice that implies she probably did. “And even if I had a bad feeling, I didn’t think it would be _this_ bad. I didn’t think it would be something like Rhodey telling Cap he was under arrest. I didn’t think that Steve would take off, or that Wanda would be chained to her own home like a prisoner.”

Clint looks up again, watching his children play in the water, and feels tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. “I’m supposed to be retired. On vacation. With my kids.”

“I know.”

“I have to go to her, Nat.”

Natasha's voice, when she speaks again, is soft. “I know. Just...do me a favor, and please talk to Laura. We can’t have this conversation the way I want to. I could barely find enough time to make this phone call without someone watching me. But I want her to have a say in you leaving like this. I want to her to know what we're up against.”

He nods to himself, the pull in his gut becoming more prominent. “Fuck me.”

“Want me to remember to make a mark on the swear chart?” Natasha asks and Clint almost laughs, relieved that she’s trying to steer the conversation towards something that seems normal.

“We might not be able to do it together for awhile,” he answers, and Natasha’s silence is a deadly confirmation of how much he hates his instincts. “Laura’s out right now. I’ll talk to her later.”

“Good,” Natasha breathes. “Keep me updated, if you can. I don’t know how easy it’s going to be to stay in contact. I’ve got Ross on my back and the last thing I want him to know is that you’re involved and that you’ve got a family at stake. Plus, if you do go to Wanda, I doubt she’s going to want to see Stark.”

Clint pauses to let her words sink in, understanding what she doesn’t say. “So, I can’t see you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Natasha says softly. “I just mean...I don’t know what’s going to happen. But if you go help Wanda and Steve, I might not be able to help you. My hands might be tied. I need you to understand that.”

Clint hugs his son more tightly, as if he can use the baby to help siphon out all the hurt from his own bones. “You still have your phone, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha allows. “The private line. The kids can call, if they need to. I may not be able to answer quickly, but I promise I'll talk to them.”

“Right.” He turns to find Lila waving at her father, a one hundred watt smile stretching across her face as she points out the beginnings of a sand castle. Clint pastes a wide smile on his own face as he waves back. “We’ve done worse, right?”

“We’ve done a lot worse,” Natasha confirms, though she doesn’t sound wholly convinced of her response. “Stay safe. I love you.”

“Stay safe yourself. I love you, too.”

She hangs up almost immediately, and Nate picks that moment to start crying again. This time, Clint’s almost glad for the noise, because it gives him something to focus on as he walks back to his kids. Lila, dripping wet, comes running at the sound of her brother’s unhappiness, and Clint sits back down and helps her rock Nate in her arms until he calms down again.

Laura returns half an hour or so later, and even though Clint has enough experience to snap into dad mode without even trying, he knows she can tell that something’s not right. To her credit, she doesn’t bring up the subject until Nate is finally napping and the kids have been settled with lunch, and they can steal a moment together on the indoor porch.

“Wanna talk?” She hands him a fresh bottle of Guinness, as if making a peace offering, and he takes it half-heartedly before shaking his head.

“Not really. I kinda have to, though.”

Laura smiles and sits down in one of the big chairs, opening her arms. “I’ve been married to you for over fifteen years, Clint. And I’ve had over ten years of experience learning how to read our wife, _and_ we have two kids who were practically raised to be sneaky. I think I can tell when you need to talk.”

“I know.” Clint walks over, sitting down carefully on her lap. “But this isn’t a conversation I wanted to have while we were away. Or at all.” He pauses to collect himself. “Nat called earlier.”

“What about?” Laura asks the question quietly and comfortingly, and Clint realizes she doesn’t even sound surprised, let alone worried. He vaguely wonders if she knew that Natasha would call again for some reason or another, once it was confirmed she was safe.

“It’s Wanda.” He swallows down more beer. “Stark, he’s...she can’t leave the compound in New York. She’s being held there against her will.”

Laura doesn’t say anything, her arms wrapped around his waist, and Clint finds himself gulping down his drink even though he knows this isn’t the right time or enough time to let himself fall apart.

“Natasha’s stuck with Stark, trying to deal with Ross,” he continues. “I guess Cap’s still trying to track down Barnes. I don’t really know what’s going on.”

“Okay.” He feels Laura’s ribs constrict as she takes a deep breath, her lungs expanding against his spine. “What are you going to tell the kids?”

Clint whips his head around so quickly, he thinks he might make himself sick. “I -- no, Laura. I can’t go.”

“Yes,” Laura says softly, and Clint realizes her eyes are too bright. “You can. Wanda needs you.”

“No,” Clint argues again, even though he’s aware that he’s protesting against the truth of Laura’s words. For some reason, it feels okay if _he_ decides it, because Wanda is his responsibility. It would even feel okay if Laura yelled at him about it, if she forbade him to leave, because then at least it would feel like this was a decision that was wrong in every single way. Having Laura agree with him about the fact that he needs to leave his family feels like a punch in the gut, a nail in the coffin of the knowledge that he’ll never truly stop taking on projects that will keep him from being a father and a husband.

“Clint.”

He takes another long drink. “What?”

“Do you remember when you told me you were in love with Natasha? You wanted me to say something or do something, because you were convinced I couldn’t just _accept_ it.”

Clint laughs quietly. “Yeah, well. I didn’t know you guys were hooking up behind my back.”

“We weren’t,” Laura says with a small grin. “Well, not that much. We had only kissed a few times when you came out with your confession.” She drags her knuckles over his sunburnt skin. “Please don’t lie to me. You know you need to go.”

Clint arches his neck, meeting Laura’s forehead, her soft skin meshing against his own. “What _am_ I going to tell the kids?”

Laura’s hands don’t stop moving along his body. “Tell them the truth. Tell them that you have to go to work. They’ll understand.”

“I’m not sure they will,” Clint admits as his stomach rolls queasily, because it’s pointless to pretend that they’ve passed the point of thinking his absence won't matter. Cooper, now old enough to understand the risks of what Clint going off like this meant, would probably have every right to be angry. Lila would simply see her father as someone who was leaving her, just like Natasha had left her.

“Even if they get upset -- and we’ll talk to them, we’ll sit them down and let them know why you’re going away after all this time -- they’ll still love you,” Laura says softly, as if reading his thoughts. “You’re their father, and they think you’re a hero. That will never, ever change.”

“I know, but --”

“And you have someone else who loves you, who also thinks you’re a hero,” Laura reminds him. “She needs you right now.”

Clint looks down at his beer bottle, which is sweating onto his fingers. He shakes off the condensation. “I said I was retired.”

“You’re not going back for Cap, or even for Natasha,” Laura points out. “You’re going for Wanda. There’s a difference.”

“But I’m still _leaving_ ,” Clint protests, fear edging into his voice. “We’re supposed to go water skiing. I’m driving carpool on Monday, and you’re going to have to take Cooper to his soccer game alone. Nate has a pediatrician appointment. I said I would do more work on the tree house.”

“There will always be things you’re going to miss,” Laura says sadly. “There will always be something stopping you, Clint. You know that.”

“I want to go,” Clint continues, his voice breaking. “I want to go, but I should be _home_.”

Laura waits until he stops talking before she speaks again. “What would Natasha say?”

Clint closes his eyes, knowing when he’s been defeated. “She wanted me to talk to you about it. And she would tell me to listen to you, and to trust you.”

“Okay,” Laura says, her lips warm against his cheek. "So trust me." She gently steers his head in her direction and finds his eyes, and he sees love and fear and hope mirrored in her gaze.

“I love you,” she says, her voice firm and soft. “I will always love you, Clint Barton. And I’m telling you to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lifted most of Ross' background from the MCU Wiki, for those curious. As always, thank you to intrikate88 for being my reader and always making this better. And thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos or a tumblr reblog! Every little bit helps encourage me for upcoming chapters, which are slowly making their way into the world. :) I promise that things will start to come together soon, feelings and all, and I am so appreciative of everyone's support and enthusiasm!


	6. Chapter 6

Laura walks in on Clint lying in bed with Nathaniel stretched out along his chest and stomach, a blanket covering most of his body. The baby is napping, lips billowing softly around his pacifier, but Clint is staring up at the ceiling, wide awake despite the fact he’d told Laura he was going to rest while she took Lila for a walk.

“You should be sleeping.”

“Number one, it’s noon, not midnight. Number two, _he_ should be sleeping, and he is,” Clint responds, not moving as Laura walks around to the other side of the bed and lies down next to him.

“Miracle of small miracles,” Laura says, putting her head on his shoulder and staring at her son. She brushes a hand over his cheek. “Nat’s right. He is fat. It’s adorable.”

Clint wrinkles his nose. “You always gang up on me and take her side,” he grumbles and Laura hums to herself softly.

“Because in our case, the wife is almost always right.” She pauses. “Almost. You okay?”

“Of course,” Clint says, keeping his tone completely manufactured and perfunctory. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No idea,” Laura responds, not bothering to keep the sarcastic bite out of her voice. “But I’m betting it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re leaving your family to go back to work.”

Clint closes his eyes, laying a large hand on Nate’s small back. “I should call Wanda.”

“Don’t you think that’s going to panic her even more?” Laura asks gently. “She knows you’re away and not thinking of work right now. What if she doesn’t know that she’s being contained yet and she tries to leave on her own, and then gets hurt or lost? You’d be responsible for making a situation potentially worse, Clint.”

“So what am I supposed to do instead? Just show up randomly and jailbreak her out of that place on a wing and a prayer?” He turns his head as much as he can, meeting her eyes. Laura smiles, but it’s a smile that looks far from genuine.

“You’re Hawkeye, remember? You’ll think of something.”

Clint takes a deep long breath, watching Nate rise and fall along with his exhale, and stares out the window where the sun is shining brightly, a glowing and intense orb. “We still gotta tell the kids. Or I do.”

“I know,” Laura says quietly. “Lila keeps asking about when you’re going to dance with her, to practice for her recital. Cooper can’t stop talking about water skiing. I don’t...this isn’t going to be a good time.”

“It’s never going to be a good time,” Clint says shortly. Laura places a hand on his arm.

“Do you want me to call a family meeting?”

Clint manages a laugh, biting down on his lip. “No,” he says finally. “If we need to talk about it after the fact, we can do that together. But I should be the one to tell them. It’s my choice to leave, isn’t it?”

Laura doesn’t say anything, but she kisses him and gently removes Nate from his stomach so that he can roll over, walking out the room. He slams the door behind him with a grimace, aware that he’s making his own decision harder than it needs to be, but he also knows that he doesn’t care. Lila meets him halfway down the hallway, violet smeared along her mouth.

“Daddy!” She grins, showing purple-stained teeth. “We picked blueberries with mommy while you were napping! Want to share some?”

Clint can’t help but smile as his daughter earnestly holds out a green plastic bucket. “Thanks, Lila baby.” He reaches down to take a small handful of food. “Want to find your brother and have some daddy time?”

“Mommy said Tasha-Nate was sleeping!” Lila informs Clint with a giggle as she takes his hand and pulls him down the hallway. “He said goodnight to me.”

“Oh, really?” Clint raises an eyebrow. “He spoke to you?”

“No, daddy!” Lila looks exasperated. “He made a noise when I kissed him goodnight. An' I told him Tasha loved him too, even though Tasha's not here. Do you need me to get Tasha-Nate and wake him up?”

Clint gestures towards the front door. “I need your other brother.”

“Oh. Okay.” Lila skips through the house, beelining outside towards where Clint can see Cooper reading in the hammock he’d strung up when they’d arrived. Clint lets out a long breath, turning to see Laura standing behind him, holding a barely-awake and fussing Nate in her arms.

 _You can do this._ She doesn’t open her mouth, but her eyes are gentle and calm, and he uses the sentiment to anchor himself.

“Why are we going for a walk?” Cooper asks suspiciously when he enters the house, _The Maze Runner_  tucked underneath his arm. “Lila and mom just went for a walk.”

“Because I didn't get to go before, and I want to spend some time with you before dinner,” Clint explains, holding out his hand. “Come on, we’ll take the path behind the house, the one that we don’t really walk a lot. It’ll be fun.”

Cooper eyes Clint warily but nods, tossing his book onto the floor as Lila takes her father’s hand again. Clint trades one more glance with Laura before stepping outside.

“Is Tasha coming home yet?”

“Not yet,” Clint says as they leave the house behind. “But she’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“You said that a few days ago,” Lila points out and Clint grimaces, hating his daughter’s penchant for being smart enough to pick up on details.

“Natasha’s working, remember?”

“Come on, dad.” Cooper sounds annoyed. “You wanna tell us something and it’s something you don’t wanna say with mom around, right? What’s going on?”

Clint curses under his breath, now hating his son’s introspective mind and the fact they’d somehow managed to birth two children who were just as sharp as their parents were.

“Look.” He stops to collect himself, knowing that no matter how long he waits, saying what he needs to say out loud won’t get any easier. “I know I’ve been home for awhile, but I need to go away again. For work.”

“What?” Lila stops walking and stares up at Clint with a crestfallen face. Cooper, who has been moving a few steps ahead of his father, whirls around on his heel.

“I knew it,” he says sullenly and Clint suppresses a sigh.

“Cooper --”

“No!” Cooper’s face darkens, his fists clenching by his side. “Come on, dad. You _always_ do this! You promise something and then you just go away when people more important want you to go away! Aunt Nat goes away all the time and she _always_ has, even though she lives here, and now you’re going away and leaving, too! What about my bedroom? What about my bow and my treehouse? You said you’d stop being a superhero and you’d be home, but you just lie to me!”

“Cooper! _Hey_!” Clint barks out the words as his son turns and runs back towards the house. They’re far enough away that he can’t actually see Cooper run through the door, but close enough that he's able to hear the loud slam.

“ _Cooper_!” Clint bellows angrily, forgetting for a moment where he is, until a small voice cuts through his temper, halting him from taking the steps to chase after his son.

“Are you really leaving, daddy?”

Clint closes his eyes and tries to calm himself again, bending down to meet her height.

“Yeah, Lila baby. I am. Wanda's in trouble, and I have to go help her.”

Lila’s voice trembles when she speaks again. “Auntie Tasha left me, too.”

Clint nods, watching her lower lip shake. “I know,” he says, opening his arms, because he doesn’t know what else to do. Lila at least lets her father pick her up, pressing her head into his shoulder.

“Hey, baby girl. I love you, okay? You know that I love you? What do I always tell you?”

"I love you forever, I like you like always," Lila responds slowly and Clint kisses her on the head.

"As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be. Come on. Let’s go back to the house for awhile. I need to talk to your brother.”

Lila sticks her thumb in her mouth and they walk in silence until Clint can make out Cooper sitting sullenly on the steps, staring at the ground.

“Go find mom,” Clint encourages, putting Lila on the ground and kissing her again. “I’ll be in soon.” He watches Lila run up the steps, noting that Cooper barely moves to let her by.

“Mom said I couldn’t go back inside until I apologized,” Cooper says when Clint stops in front of him. “But I don’t wanna apologize to you.”

“Tough luck,” Clint says just as forcefully, and Cooper looks up with a heavy glare. “Sorry, kiddo. You got my anger streak, and that means I know exactly how you feel right now. You don’t want to talk to me, you don’t want to say you’re sorry. I get it. But you're not allowed to be rude about it.”

Cooper shifts his gaze, staring moodily at the trees, and Clint sighs as he sits down on the steps next to him.

“I’m sorry that this is happening.”

“No, you’re not,” Cooper retorts. “You’ve _always_ chosen work over us, dad. _Always_. You’ve missed my baseball games, my soccer games, my birthdays. Nat was there more than you were sometimes when I was a baby. I remember.”

Clint finds himself at a loss for words, largely because he knows he can’t refute Cooper’s response. “I know that’s how it’s always seemed,” he says, trying to be careful with the way he phrases his answer. “But I have a job to do, Coop. And it’s a job that helps me give you a good life, and a job that allows you and Nat and mom and Lila and Nate to be safe. I love my job, but I’ve had to make sacrifices for it. And I've tried really hard to make sure I wasn't always away, but you know it’s never been easy.”

“Yeah, you love your job,” Cooper says sarcastically. “You love Aunt Tasha, too. And you told me that maybe you'd have a baby with Tasha one day but that you'd never love Tasha more than mom.”

“I don’t,” Clint says, trying not to match the level of his son’s anger. “I love your mom and Natasha equally, Coop, you know that. They’re your moms and they love you the exact same.”

Cooper slams a hand down on the porch step. “But you do, dad! You love Tasha _and_ your job more than you love us and mom!”

“That’s _enough_ ,” Clint snaps loudly, hauling his son up by the arm and not caring if Laura hears their argument. “You don’t get to talk to me like that, Cooper Barton. And you don’t get to say those things about mom, or about Natasha, or about our family. You have no idea what we’ve been through or how hard we’ve worked to love each other so that we can love you the best that we can. And I love you more than anything in the world, and I love Nat and mom exactly the same. I would never choose one of them over the other.”

“Then _why_ are you going away?” Cooper shoots back, wrenching away from his grip with a strength Clint thinks he might be impressed by if the situation was different. “Just tell me the truth! I’m old enough to know, and you haven’t left me for months.”

Clint watches his son’s eyes change, the flash in his pupils disappearing as he stares at him, and in that moment, he sees so much of himself as a child that it makes him hurt.

“Sit down,” he says after a beat and Cooper shakes his head.

“I’ll only sit down if _you_ sit down.”

“Teenagers,” Clint mutters under his breath as he lowers himself to the steps. He glances up, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that you’re growing up too fast, or the fact that you’re growing up more like me than I expected.”

“I don’t wanna be a grown-up,” Cooper says, and Clint snorts out a quiet laugh.

“No one does, kiddo.” He waits for an insult that doesn’t come and watches his son sit down slowly. “You want the truth? About why I’m leaving?”

Cooper’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah.”

“And you promise that if I tell you, you’ll act like an adult? You promise that you won’t call me names, or say things like I don’t love you and mom enough?”

Cooper nods and Clint takes a deep breath, rubbing the goatee he hasn’t bothered to shave. “There’s some problems with the team. That’s why Aunt Tasha is away right now. She went to help them. And Wanda needs some help, and I need to go to her.” He watches his son take in the information with a head tilt and a confused stare.

“What’s wrong with the team? And with Wanda?”

Clint considers how to reply in a way that doesn’t sound too serious. “People are having fights. Kind of like how you and Lila fight when you can’t agree on things. Or the way mom and I fight when I don’t do all my chores, or when I swear in front of you by accident.”

Cooper looks down at his knees. “Are you in trouble?”

Clint shakes his head. “I’m not, no.”

“Is Wanda in trouble? Aunt Nat?”

“Wanda just needs someone who understands her right now,” Clint says, trying to be as honest as possible. “And you know Nat. She can take care of herself no matter what, right?”

Cooper nods slowly, playing with his fingers. “Yeah. So, no water skiing.”

Clint swallows hard and shakes his head. “No water skiing,” he says sadly. “I’m sorry, kiddo. And I know this isn’t easy, but I’m gonna need you to be the man in the house while I’m gone. I need you to take care of your sister and mom and your brother, until Nat and I come home again.”

Cooper turns and fixes Clint with a worried stare, anger evaporating from his eyes. “Who’s gonna take care of you?”

Clint forces out a smile. “Wanda and Nat will make sure I’m okay. But I’m pretty tough, remember? All those injuries, especially when you were little?”

Cooper nods and Clint puts an arm around his son, bringing him close. “I do love you, Coop. And I love mom, and Lila, and Nate. I love you guys more than anything in the world. But I have to work for a living, like Natasha does. And sometimes, when you're working, you have to make choices like this, because you love the people who are important to you. Me leaving you doesn’t mean I love anyone or anything any less.” He pauses to let his words sink in. “I try to teach you that lesson so that one day, when you grow up and have kids of your own, you can do the right thing and understand what it means to make that sacrifice. You’re the most important thing in my world, and I need you to know that.”

“I know,” Cooper says morosely. “I do dad, it’s just...it’s hard. I got used to having you around. Other guys have their dads around all the time, and I never did. You were away so much and so was Nat, but I thought you guys going away would stop one day. And now Nat still goes away, and then it’s lonely when it’s just me and mom.” He swallows hard. “I just want us to be a family.”

“We _are_ a family,” Clint says immediately, hugging his son tighter, trying to stave off his own emotions. “Even if sometimes we do things differently than other people, we’re always a family, Coop. And that will never change. This family comes first, and it always has. Even before you were born. Even before I started working, even before Natasha met mom and fell in love with her.” He looks down at the dirt, brushing the toe of his sandal over the ground. “You know how much mom appreciates you? How much she loves that you’re home with her?”

Cooper nods. “She tells me all the time. Like, a lot.”

“You know that it’s just as hard for her when we all go away, even after all this time? Especially when Natasha’s away, too.”

“Yeah.” Cooper puts his chin in his hands, and it looks like he’s thinking hard, his forehead wrinkling into thick lines. “So, I gotta be a grown-up?”

Clint brushes back his son’s hair. “Only for a little bit. You always wanted to be like me and Nat, right? Be a cool superhero?”

Cooper nods, and Clint nods back. “Well, sometimes superhero stuff is more than just shooting arrows and being a spy. Sometimes, you have to step up and do a job when you’re called to bat, the same way you get called off the bench at soccer when they want you in the field. And you do the best you can, because you have people counting on you, who believe in you. And if you can do this for me, and take care of this family while I’m away, it would make me really proud. I know it would make Nat proud, too. Because we all love you, Coop. To the moon and back.”

Cooper gives Clint a sideways glance. “Will you make it up to me? You leaving like this?”

“Absolutely,” Clint responds without hesitation. “I don’t know how, but I promise I will.” He rubs Cooper's back in gentle circles, feeling the rest of the fury bleed out of him, knowing full well that there’s sadness coming to take its place.

“Dad.”

“Yeah?”

“Just...just come home,” Cooper says hesitantly, as if he's scared to say the words out loud. “I don’t really want you to buy me anything cool while you're away. I just want you to come home.”

Clint swallows hard, trying to ignore the pain in his chest, and he scoots closer to his son.

“Don’t worry, Coop. I think I can do that.”

 

***

 

Clint tries not to pay attention to the fact that the mood drops considerably after his talk with Cooper. Laura rallies the kids with promises of a long dinner and dessert and family board games, and Clint notices Cooper does his best to act like nothing’s wrong, but he can also see the way his son is quietly hurting.

“I don’t like this,” Clint admits as they stoke a campfire while the kids get changed into their pajamas. He's holding Nate in one arm, letting him and his few teeth gnaw on half of a precious New York bagel.

“Leaving?” Laura asks quietly.

“No.” He holds Nate more tightly. “Cooper. He’s twelve, Laur. He’s a kid, still. He should be having fun and going off with his friends and playing soccer and, I don’t know, maybe finding girls to ask to the movies.”

“Don’t be stupid, you’d never let him date anyway,” Laura points out. “Neither would I, actually. At least, not without a background check from Fury and Nat.”

Clint’s mouth lifts in a slight smile. “Nat would just beat the girl up until she promised to treat him right,” he says, and Laura laughs.

“That’s true.”

“I told him he had to kind of grow up and take care of you guys while I was gone,” Clint continues. “I wanted him to be aware, now that he understands why I go away...Christ, Laura, I’m forcing my kid to be an adult when he doesn’t have to be. This is why I didn’t want to tell him about my job. He’s already been through so much, with us, with Hydra…”

“You couldn’t have hidden your job from him forever,” Laura reminds him gently. “And he was going to find out about our relationship one day. We held off long enough with both of those things as it was. I think in the grand scheme of things, Cooper’s reaction was pretty mild. It’s not like his life got more complicated because he suddenly knew Natasha was sleeping with us.” She reaches over, dragging fingers through his short hair. “You’re a father. From your first day at SHIELD to the day you met Natasha, you’ve always been a father, first. This doesn’t change that.”

“I know,” Clint murmurs, watching as Nate tries unsuccessfully to shove most of the bagel into his small mouth. Laura leans her head on his shoulder.

“We can go home with you,” she suggests after a moment, and Clint sighs.

“No. I’m going home to get my stuff, and then I’ll head out to New York. You guys should stay until tomorrow night, like you planned. The kids deserve it, even if we can't do the things we promised them.”

Laura looks uncertain, lifting her head and wrapping her arms around her legs. “How are you going to get the airport? I don’t remember seeing a spare quinjet in our backyard.”

Clint thinks for a moment. “If I take the truck and leave it parked there, can you have Hannah or Dave pick it up for me and drive it back after you get home? Or your mom?”

“Yeah,” Laura says slowly. “And how are you going to get _home_?”

Clint shrugs. “Call a cab, I guess. This is the 20th century, they have a GPS.”

Laura laughs softly. “We’re not exactly that close, Clint. It’s going to be an expensive cab ride.”

“I’ll make Stark pay for it. He owes me, after all of this.” He expects Laura to laugh again, but there’s no response, and when he looks over he realizes she’s crying silently, tears dripping down her cheeks.

“Hey.” Clint shifts Nate so that he’s sitting securely in his lap, allowing his hands to brush water from her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s just a kid,” Laura whispers brokenly. “She’s being locked up like a caged animal, fighting this war, and she’s already lost her brother. What if something happens and she loses Natasha, or you? What if _we_ lose you?”

“She’s not a kid,” Clint says, ignoring Laura’s fears and trying to channel Natasha’s rationale and thoughts, even though he still doesn’t fully believe them. Laura looks up, wet eyes filled with worry.

“But she is, Clint! That could be Cooper out there that they’re keeping locked up. Or Lila.”

“Laura --”

“Do you know that years ago, Cooper told Natasha he wanted to do what she did when he grew up?” Laura asks, her shaky voice firming up. “And I thought maybe he would grow out of it once he got older, once he saw how dangerous it really was last year after you all came home. But a few days ago, he came to me while I was making dinner, and do you know what he said?”

Clint shakes his head mutely.

“He said, ‘mom, I think I want to be like dad. I want to go be a superhero and fight bad guys and be someone cool.” She shivers. “My kid could be out there one day. I don’t know if I would stop him, because I didn’t stop you. Someone could lock him up for no reason. And I don’t even know who would go save him, if you weren’t here.”

“No one is going to lock anyone up,” Clint promises. “I swear, Laura. This is...this sucks, and I hate that I have to go, but it’s not going to be anything that I can’t handle.”

“You always say that,” Laura says, dragging a palm down her face and smearing her makeup. “You said that about Loki, you said that about Hydra, you said that about Ultron. Every single time, you’ve almost died, or Natasha has almost died. Every _single_ time, Clint! And I can’t...I can’t…”

“Laura.” Clint channels his voice into seriousness. “Laura, listen to me. I told you once, and I’m telling you again. I am  _always_ going to come home.”

Laura jerks slightly at the sound of the door opening, wiping her face hastily as Cooper and Lila pile out of the house. “I’ll bring Nate inside and get him changed,” she says, picking up the baby from his lap and moving quickly, before her kids can see her crying. Clint watches her go as Cooper sits down next to him, and Clint notices that he’s still looking a little forlorn, despite the fact that he offers his dad a small smile when he passes the marshmallow bag. Lila crawls into Clint's lap, taking the space vacated by the baby, dirt and twigs covering the fabric of her pajamas.

“When are you leaving?” Cooper asks as he sticks a long twig into the fire. Clint watches the marshmallow burn, its edges becoming black and twisted.

“Later tonight,” he says, wrapping his arms around Lila. “After you go to sleep.”

“Why do you leave when we go to sleep?” Lila asks, turning with a sad stare. "Tasha doesn't do that."

“Makes it easier for me to travel, Lila baby. And then I get to know I kissed you goodnight.” He glances over at Cooper again, and he can’t help but laugh watching him remove the stick from the fire. Cooper gives him a wary look.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Clint says honestly. “It’s just that you make your marshmallows the same way Nat does. She loves sticking them in the fire forever, until they’re totally burned.”

“Is that cause she likes beating people up and making them suffer?”

Clint laughs again, feeling a little lighter. “Kind of.”

Cooper gives his dad a wicked grin as he grabs two graham crackers and a chocolate bar. “I like being like Nat.”

Clint puts his hand on Cooper’s shoulder, trying not to think of Laura’s words. “I know you do, kiddo.”

“Daddy.” Lila twists her head so that she’s staring up at Clint again. “When you see Tasha at work, can you tell her I love her and miss her?”

Clint kisses his daughter’s head, resting his cheek on her hair, wondering how she’s able to maintain so much innocence in a world where everything always seems like it's falling apart.

“Yeah, Lila baby. I can.”

 

***

 

Because there are enough rooms at the lake house, Cooper and Lila are allowed to have their own spaces, which means Clint’s able to spend a little extra time privately with each of his kids before he leaves.

“We’ll finish your bedroom when I get back,” Clint says as Cooper climbs into bed. “I promise.” He feels bad as he says the words, because he can practically see Cooper’s skepticism bleeding through his gaze.

“It’s fine, dad.” He pulls the covers down with a sharp tug and tosses his book on the bedside table, next to a bottle of water. “Lila’s okay. Really. Maybe mom and I can work on the room together while you’re gone.”

Clint nods and sits down next to him, kissing him on the head. “Remember what I said?”

“Yeah. I gotta be the man in the house. Remember what _I_ said?”

“That all you want is for me to come home,” Clint affirms, opening his arms. Cooper hugs him easily and tightly, a grip Clint can tell is filled with worry but also love. “I love you, kiddo.”

“I know. I love you too, dad.”

Lila starts crying when Clint comes to tuck her in, and Clint realizes he almost prefers Cooper’s anger, because at least that didn’t make him feel like he wanted to cry, too. When her tears don’t stop, Clint lies down in the bed with her and cuddles her closely.

“What do we like to tell each other before we go to bed? When it’s you and me and Aunt Tasha and we cuddle together?”

Lila stares up at him with eyes that are still leaking. “How much we love each other.”

Clint smiles, kissing her nose and then her cheek, settling into the bed. The book that he used to read to Cooper as a baby, that Natasha and Laura and Clint had started reading to Lila and now Nate, is at home in their room. But Clint knows all three of them can recite the short story by heart, largely because they’ve read it almost every night, even before Natasha officially moved in for good. “Guess how much I love you.”

Lila starts to smile. “This much,” she says, trying to move her arms, which are pinned by Clint's own. She finally gets free of his grip and flings them around Clint’s back.

“But I love you _this_ much,” Clint says, hugging her more tightly, wrapping his bigger arms around her small body. “I love you all the way up to your toes.”

“I love you all the way up to _your_ toes!” Lila says with a giggle, kicking him lightly under the covers. “I love you as far as I can hop!”

“But I love you as far as _I_ can hop,” Clint answers. “Tasha does, too.”

“Tasha loves me to the moon and back,” Lila says and Clint pushes hair from her eyes.

“And I love _you_ right up to the moon and back,” he whispers, his breath tickling her ear. “Go to bed, little nut hare. I’m right here.” He cuddles her gently, not realizing he’s also fallen asleep in the small twin bed, until Laura shakes him awake.

“You should go,” she whispers, brushing the back of her hand across his cheek. Clint blinks sleep out of his eyes as he gets up and Lila doesn’t move when he extracts his arm from her body, only snuggling deeper into the pillows, clutching her stuffed wolf. He gives her one last look before he leaves the room.

“How’s the namesake?” Clint asks hoarsely after he closes the door to the bedroom.

“Still awake,” Laura says, gesturing towards their room, where the portable crib has been set up. “Unsurprisingly, but maybe that’s a good thing.”

Clint nods, knowing he doesn’t have to clarify her words. “Gimme a moment?”

Laura smiles faintly. “I’ll call the cab. And make a coffee for the road.” She heads towards the kitchen and Clint watches her go before walking into the bedroom. Nate, dressed in his train onesie, is standing as much as he can, gripping the rails of the crib with small fingers to steady himself.

“Hey, little man.” Clint leans down and settles his chin on the crib. “You’re too little to understand what I’m going to tell you, but I’m going to tell you, anyway. I’m going away for a little bit. And I’m going to miss you a lot while I’m gone. Just don’t start speaking before I come back, okay? I want to be able to hear at least one first word from you.”

“Ah daaaa!” Nate responds, and Clint smiles.

“You know I did this with your brother? Yeah, I had to go to work a lot when he was a baby, too. I spent a lot of time away. I promised I wouldn’t do that again, but people need my help. That’s the thing about your daddy, I guess. He likes to help people. He likes to keep people safe, because he cares about them. I hope that one day you'll care enough about people to want to keep them safe, too.” Clint’s throat closes up as he thinks of Natasha, of Wanda, and of Cooper and Lila.

“I love you. Daddy will always love you, and mommy will always love you. Both of your mommies will.”

“Da!” Nate announces, reaching out to grab Clint’s nose, small fingers scratching at his skin. Clint reaches into the crib and picks him up, swinging him around slowly in the air.

“I love you,” Clint continues, watching his son's face dissolve into a grin. “I love your happy side, your sad side, your silly side, your mad side, I love your fingers and toes, your ears and nose. I love your hair and eyes, your giggles and cries. I love you running and walking, silent and talking. I love you through and through...yesterday, today and tomorrow, too.” He tries not to cry as he leans over to put him back in the crib, kissing him softly before he leaves the room. Laura's standing in the kitchen, watching the last of the drip coffee make its way into the carafe.

“Your uniform is in the back of the closet,” Laura says as she takes an Iowa State travel mug from the drying rack. “Your bow is where you’ve been keeping it, in the hidden cavity. I think there’s even some clean underwear in the laundry room, because I'm good like that.” Clint watches Laura busy herself with pouring coffee, before grabbing a bag and filling it with a few bananas and fresh blueberries.

“Laura.”

She turns around in the middle of picking up an apple, and he tries to smile.

“Remember what I told you on our wedding day?”

Laura nods. “You don’t get to die first,” she says and Clint opens his arms. She drops the food on the counter and walks into him, burrowing against his chest.

“I love you more than I can hop,” Clint murmurs. “I love you more than my toes.”

“Don’t feed me crap from those kiddie books,” Laura says bluntly, her voice muffled against his shirt, and Clint strokes her hair.

“Okay. Then how about one from a non-toddler book?” He pulls away and finds her eyes. “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

Laura's eyes fill with tears and she hits him in the chest. “You’re a goddamn sap,” she informs him, before bringing his mouth to hers. Clint lets himself kiss her deeply and warmly, relishing in the comfort that is and has always been Laura's love. “Promise me that you’ll be okay.”

“I promise," Clint says, leaning in to kiss her again, this time longer and more passionately. He cups her face between both of his palms, holding her as tightly as he can, as if he's afraid to let go. "I promise that _we’ll_ be okay." He reaches up and runs his fingers through her hair, and she closes her eyes.

“Go help Wanda and be there for her, so that you can come home. So that you and Nat can both come home. I love you, Clint. So much.”

“I know,” he says helplessly. It feels like he’s saying the same thing over and over again, but he’s not really sure what else he _can_ say to make the situation feel any better. “I love you, too. We’re a family. Never forget that.”

"How could I? I only fought to keep us together for years when our stubborn wife kept running away." She reaches up to hug him as her phone beeps softly, signaling the arrival of the cab. “Tell Nat I love her.”

Clint nods, not wanting to tell Laura what Natasha had warned him about when it came to being able to talk to each other during this mission. “I will.” _Somehow_. He gives her one last kiss and one more long hug before stepping out the door. As the cab pulls away, Clint stares at the warmly lit house in the middle of the woods and tries to visualize the people that he’s leaving: Laura, standing at the doorway dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, messy hair strewn over her shoulder, mouth pursed in a sad smile. Nate and his few teeth, lying on his back in the crib and amusing himself by babbling words he can't say. Cooper stretched out in bed because he sleeps the same way his father does, taking up every angle; Lila cuddled tightly with her stuffed wolf in the same compact manner that Natasha’s so fond of falling into when she rests. He eventually lets his exhausted emotions get the best of him and sleeps through most of the long ride, only waking when the cabbie jerks rudely to a stop at what Clint realizes is the base of the farm.

“Put it on my card,” he mumbles sleepily, fumbling for his wallet and then shoving plastic at the bearded driver. He doesn’t even bother to look at what he knows is the probably horrible damage, crumpling the receipt in his palm as he drags his suitcase out of the trunk and up to the house. He'd groused about Stark owing him expenses, well, Natasha would probably kill him when she found out how much he'd just racked his bill up to.

The farmhouse is quiet and dark, and it unnerves Clint -- he’s used to a quiet house and he prefers it, even, especially with Nate’s current sleeping habits. But when the house is quiet, it’s usually because his kids are out and he’s enjoying some well-earned solitude, or because he’s sleeping and Laura and Natasha are cuddled next to him. The house without anyone in it feels large and lonely, and it seems as big and uncomfortable as it did when they first came to visit so many years ago.

Clint switches on the light in the living room, dropping his bag and slowly climbing the stairs. He gathers his bow and arrows from the hidden cavity and then pulls his uniform from the closet, not paying close attention to any of his actions. It’s only when he shakes out his suit -- the suit he knows he hasn’t even bothered to look at since coming home after Sokovia -- that he realizes it’s completely different than the uniform he’s used to. The gashes and tears and blood stains from previous missions, the ones that have practically ingrained themselves into the fabric, are gone, but that isn't what makes Clint do a double take. Instead of the sharp burgundy colors indicative of so many incarnations, the suit is imbued with a deeper purple, a hue almost closer to violet than maroon. There are large new straps that fold over the chest area -- to hold his gear better, Clint suspects -- but he also notices there are more places for him to store various weapons, such as a gun and a knife. The outfit reeks of a design made for stealth, and screams more spy than soldier. Clint frowns, smiles a little, and then picks up the phone. He knows it’s late, but he also knows Laura will answer his call, and that she would want him to call, anyway.

“Did you get home okay?” she asks when she answers groggily.

“Yeah,” Clint says, looking down at his clothing, deciding to forgo the apology for waking her up. “Uh. Just wondering. When did I get a new suit?”

He can almost see Laura smile over the phone. “You didn’t. We made some modifications.”

“ _We_?”

“Me and Natasha,” Laura clarifies. “We've been working on it for awhile. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday, but I guess we can celebrate your birthday a little early. We were saving it in case --”

“In case I ever went back to work?”

Laura pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice is sad. “You went through a lot in Sokovia, in New York...whatever was next, we wanted it to be a fresh start for you. And you’ve done so much for us, Clint, for the family...we just thought you deserved something nice.”

Clint closes his eyes, unsure whether to feel relieved or sad at her words. “You knew I was never going to completely retire.”

“Yes,” Laura allows softly. “Though I hoped maybe I was wrong. I may be a little slow when it comes to learning spy language, but I know you, Clint. And so does Natasha.”

Clint bites down on his tongue, looking at the uniform again, noticing something else he'd glossed over in his initial sweep: a short sleeve on the right arm, one that doesn't match the full-length long sleeve on his left. “One sleeve?”

“That was me,” Laura admits. “I always liked how your arms looked in those suits, probably a little too much. But Natasha wanted you to have more protection, so we compromised, and she added all those straps and belts. The kids may have had a hand, too.”

“Let me guess,” Clint says suspiciously. “The color?”

“Cooper specifically said the maroon looked drab. And Lila agreed. Honestly, I think we all did.”

“Good to know my family talks about me behind my back,” Clint mutters as he inspects the uniform more closely again. “And good to know your handiwork is as good as ever. I'm sure no one will question why I got an upgrade."

"Oh, please," Laura scoffs. "Natasha's uniform has changed dozens of times over the years. Every time she goes out on a big mission, there are more bells and whistles. I think your team can afford you the benefit of the doubt after retiring."

"Yeah, probably." He smiles. "Thanks, Laur. You really didn’t have to do this.”

“You’re my husband, Clint. You’re _our_ husband. And I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. _We_ wanted to.” She pauses. “I love you. Please be safe.”

“I love _you_ ,” Clint responds. “And I will.” He hangs up and looks around the room, gathering his gear and his uniform, shoving it into a bag, along with some extra clothing. On the way out, he stops in Cooper and Lila’s room and takes the recurve bow his son has been re-stringing, laying it across his bed and studying it with a creased brow. He scribbles a few notes and suggestions on a piece of paper and puts it on the pillow; when he reaches Lila’s bed, he places her dolls in a straight line and then thinks for a moment. Clint detours downstairs and roots around in the desk drawer, until he finds the small voice recorder that he knows Laura uses during her chemistry lectures. He brings it back to the room, recites the entirety of _Guess How Much I Love You_ , complete with voices, and then saves the recording, leaving the device on the bed along with the book itself.

Clint realizes as he walks out the door that he hasn’t really given any thought as to what he'll do when he gets to New York, or for that matter, thought about anything other than rescuing Wanda. He swings his bags into the old truck and turns around, staring at the still-dark house, a heavy lump welling up in his throat.

 _You’ve left before_ , he tells himself, almost angry at the way he’s letting his emotions fester. _You’ve left home dozens of times for years. This isn’t any different_. Except it is, Clint realizes, because despite Natasha’s phone calls and Laura’s optimism, there’s an uncomfortable sensation in his gut, one that he hasn’t had in a long time. He thinks of Natasha’s worries, of the stupid Sokovia Accords and Ross, and wonders if maybe she was right to be so anxious about this particular assignment.

The shrill ringing of his cell phone, which sounds like a blaring alarm in the quiet darkness, startles him so much that he almost screams. After he recovers, he pulls the phone from his pocket, his heart jackhammering loudly against his ribcage.

“Fucking hell, Nat. It’s four in the motherfucking morning.”

“Two swear marks, and yes, I know. Are you awake?”

He snorts quietly. “Barely. Honestly, at this point, I can’t tell whether I’m mentally exhausted or physically exhausted.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Natasha says, sounding more weary than usual. “How did Laura take you leaving?”

“Laura took it fine, I guess. The kids…” He trails off, his mind flashing to Lila’s upset face and Cooper’s angry scowl. “It didn’t go so well, but what did you expect? I haven’t left home in forever, Nat.”

Natasha’s voice drops into a whisper. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice genuinely apologetic. “I wish there was another way. I really do. I wish I didn’t have to drag you into this.”

“It was my choice,” Clint responds. “I left for Wanda, and that’s why Laura told me to go, too. It’s just...it’s hard, Nat. I don't regret my decision, because I think of Wanda as my family. But they’re not kids anymore. It’s not so easy to run off and pretend that it doesn’t matter.”

“I know,” Natasha says gently. “Trust me, Clint, I know. I’m assuming you’re back home?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, staring up at the house. “I’m about to leave for the airport. I figure I’ll try to get on the first standby out of Des Moines, even if it’s a connection. At least it’ll get me back to New York.”

“And after that?”

Clint finds himself puzzled. “What do you mean, after that?”

“Clint,” Natasha says in exasperation. “We're all in Germany. Rogers is going to want you to meet him there. Unless you’re racking up frequent flyer miles, care to tell me how you’ve planned to get halfway across the country? Wanda’s practically a wanted criminal, and I think your passport is most definitely expired, if not buried in Laura's desk drawer.”

“Really, Nat. You think that with all my military contacts and all of our SHIELD contacts, I can’t find _one_ person who would willingly smuggle us over the border?”

“Excuse me for attempting to care about my partner and my husband,” Natasha says bitingly. “Any thought as to how you’re going to get Wanda out, then?”

Clint grunts, too tired to work his brain anymore. The taste of Laura's coffee lingers on his tongue, and he wishes he had decided to make more before he locked the house up. “I dunno. Show up and find a way in, I guess.”

“Compound’s locked pretty tight, Clint. And Vision’s not exactly bored over there. You’re gonna need a distraction.”

“Distraction,” Clint mutters, thinking of his explosive arrows, and, well, at least Cooper would be excited Clint finally had a chance to use them for something non-lethal. “You think I can’t handle a distraction, Nat?”

He can almost see her rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. “I’m just calling to let you know what you’re up against.”

“Up against?” Clint asks with a frown, and it now sounds like she’s walking briskly, her voice echoing throughout what he suspects is a large room.

“Yes. Ross wants Cap and Barnes and Wilson. We’ve been given thirty-six hours to bring them in, or else.”

“Jesus Christ,” Clint says, because it feels like all he’s been given lately is information that makes his brain hurt. “ _What_?”

“Look, I don’t make the rules,” Natasha says in annoyance. “I just listen to them. And then bitch about them in private, apparently. Get Wanda, and stay with Cap. Stark and I will be coming for you if Rogers doesn’t comply, and something tells me that he won’t. I’d rather have you fight against us and have you keep Wanda safe than leave her alone with Rogers.”

“Why?” Clint asks curiously.

“Because,” Natasha continues. “Rogers cares about Wanda and about doing the right thing, but he cares about Barnes, more. It's not like I don't understand that. And I don’t trust him entirely right now because of it.”

“You do realize that you and Stark are no match for Barnes alone, right? And with Rogers and Wilson, that’s even worse,” Clint reminds her. Natasha groans quietly.

“Tell me something I don’t know. I _still_ have bruises.” She sounds both grim and resigned when she speaks again. “We need to call in our own reinforcements if we’re going to have any chance of helping.”

“Reinforcements…” He trails off. “Nat, if we’ve got Wanda and Cap and Barnes and Wilson, who _else_ is coming for us?”

“Someone you’ve never met, and a few people you already know.”

“That’s all I’m getting?”

“Do you need more?” Natasha suddenly sounds irritated and Clint knows why, because they’re used to accepting information from each other with less explanation.

“No,” he says, deciding not to press the issue. “I guess not. I’m assuming I’m supposed to call Cap and figure out the rest of this shitshow by myself?”

“I’ll text you a number,” Natasha confirms, and Clint sighs.

“Great,” he mutters. “Fucking great. How’s Stark doing?”

“Like a firecracker ready to explode, and probably all over me,” Natasha mutters. “I haven’t had this much fun since 2010.”

“I’m entirely jealous,” Clint teases, trying his best to lift the mood. Natasha chuckles softly.

“God, I miss you.”

“You have no idea.” He leans against the back of the truck, staring up at the sky. “Lila wanted me to tell you she loves you, by the way. Laura says she loves you, too. She doesn’t -- I didn’t tell her what you said about this whole internal war thing. I didn’t want to make things worse by having her think we were fighting.”

“No,” Natasha agrees quietly, sounding sad. “No, I wouldn’t want that, either.” When she speaks again, her voice is tentative. “I hate to make you play mediator, but --”

“Yeah, I’ll tell her you love her back,” Clint interrupts with a small smile. “Don’t worry about it, Tash. Just make sure when you do come home, you bring some deli cookies and maybe some bagels, or some of that really nice imported coffee. And make sure you give her some good sex, okay? I didn't get to the bedroom before I left."

“Done.” Her voice softens. “I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Or see you soon,” Clint says, remembering what Natasha had told him about Ross’ mandated time limit.

“Or that,” Natasha agrees, hanging up. Clint shoves his hand into his pockets, watching the sky for a long time, until the black velvet pulls away and starts to reveal a muted violet, similar to his new uniform. He breathes in the crisp fall air that comes with ushering in a brand new day, gets in the truck, and drives down the long dirt road, watching the farm disappear behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I definitely did not intend to take this long to post this next chapter, I SWEAR. Perfection anxiety took over with some parts of this and I also had another fic that I was working on but NOW I AM BACK TO GIVE YOU FEELINGS. And in case you couldn't tell, we're getting to the good stuff, aka more daddyhawk, which means there are even more feelings to come. The good news is, I'm already way ahead on the next chapter, so I hope to start posting regularly the way I was doing with the previous fic (every 1-2 weeks or so.)
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos and encouragement! It continues to mean the world to me that you all support this OT3 and this story, and your feedback and support really, really keeps me going.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite Clint’s careful planning (the explosive arrows were just enough of a distraction to make a scene without burning down the entire lawn) and strokes of luck (getting through the vents undetected and then getting into the kitchen was a laughable throwback to the stereotypes that followed him around during his first days at SHIELD, after Rumlow got wind of his skills), the jailbreak from Avengers compound is not as simple as hopping away in one of the facility’s many extra cars that Clint’s stolen and hotwired. Wanda is hesitant and fearful, despite the confidence in her decision to leave, and after she uses her powers to subdue Vision, Clint more or less drags her through the building that he knows mostly from blueprints and from Natasha. At some point, he realizes he's pulling dead air, and when he turns around he sees Wanda doubled over, bent towards the floor of the common room.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He jogs back, only somewhat worried the extra time will screw them up -- Wanda had subdued Vision pretty well, but given what he knew and had seen, he’s not about to let down his guard.

“Hey, hey.” Clint kneels down next to Wanda as she hyperventilates, crying and gasping for air. “Wanda, breathe for me. It’s okay. I got you, okay?”

He puts a hand on her back and then moves it to her head, continuing to stroke her body in comforting circles, whispering to her softly the way he’s used to soothing Laura or Natasha after a nightmare, the way he’s soothed Wanda’s own nightmares. Wanda shudders and gags and after another long moment, she raises her head, her eyes wet and her face pale.

“Okay?” Clint keeps his voice soft, and Wanda nods. She attempts to stand, almost collapsing back onto the hard floor as her legs give out, and Clint grabs her arm.

“It’s okay. I got you.”

“I am sorry,” Wanda mumbles as she steadies herself for the second time, and Clint releases his grip on her arm somewhat. He shakes his head, pushing hair out of her eyes.

“What are you sorry for?”

Wanda can’t seem to answer, her mouth moving soundlessly in response. Clint thinks for a moment that she’s going to throw up, but then the moment passes, and she closes her eyes in resignation. He sighs to himself, seeing the hesitation and fear in her face, knowing he’s not going to push her any more than he’d push his kids.

“Okay. It’s okay, Wanda. I’m not gonna make you talk about it if you don’t want to, but either way, we gotta go.” He tugs at her arm again and this time, she follows, a tangible weight that he can pull along.

“I can walk on my own.”

Clint glances down and realizes how he’s been holding her -- a protective clutch, the same way he would hold Lila’s hand if he was leading her away from a school bully or someone potentially dangerous -- and suddenly feels embarrassed. “Sorry,” he apologizes quietly, dropping his arms by his side and continuing to walk. Wanda doesn’t say anything, but she takes his hand again, interlocking their fingers in a comfortable hold as they move silently through the compound. When they finally get through the main doorway, Wanda beelines away from the building, arching her neck towards the sky. As she sucks in a large gulp of night air, Clint allows himself to realize that maybe this house arrest didn’t just extend to her not being able to leave her room.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asks when she turns to him again.

“From having a knife thrown at my face, or from almost being choked to death?”

Wanda gives him the barest of smiles. “They were keeping me locked up. Viz -- Vision. He was protecting me.” She throws a worried glance back to the compound. “I thought the only person who could get in was someone who wanted to hurt me. I had to defend myself.”

A pain spreads through Clint’s chest. “So you didn’t count on your surrogate dad to show up and jailbreak you?”

Wanda laughs quietly. “I did not. But it does not matter. Attacking before thinking has become a response that I cannot control.”

“Yeah," Clint says matter-of-factly. "You could’ve killed me.”

Wanda’s spine freezes up, her eyes dropping to the ground. “I almost did.”

“But you didn’t.”

Wanda looks up, her face set in a mask of frustration. “But I _could_ have, Clint! Stark is right. The world is right. I am a danger -- a monster, a weapon living in the body of someone who pretends to be normal.”

“Wanda.” Clint stops and puts his hand on his hips, blowing out a long breath. “Listen to me. I do this for a living. I’ve done this my whole _life_. I’m a marksman. I throw things at people, I shoot at people, and I know what it feels like to aim and attack.” He pauses. “You stopped that knife before it hit me, and you _were_ in control.”

“I was in a stable environment and I was not provoked,” Wanda says pointedly. “Not the way I would be if I was in public.” She hesitates before continuing. “I do need to be kept away from the world.”

Clint’s heart immediately shatters. “Bullshit,” he retorts. “I _know_ you, Wanda. You held my baby and you baked with my wife and you played with my kids. You showed me that you’re more than capable of being in control, even when you’re scared. You didn’t burn down my house or hurt my children.”

“We are talking about everyday instances, and not a battle where the world can see me as my true self,” Wanda argues in frustration. “You _evaluate_ threats, Clint. You know what I am capable of.”

“Yeah. I do.” Clint folds his arms over his chest. “I know that you’re a fighter, and that you’ve used your powers to save people, and that you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. One loose cannon moment every now and then doesn’t erase that. If that was the case, Natasha and I would have given up this game a long fucking time ago.” He puts both hands on her shoulders, and finds her eyes. “I’m proud of you.”

Something shatters in Wanda’s pupils. “How can you be proud of me if self defense has become something that is so ingrained, I would react before I knew if I was hurting someone? Someone I care about? Someone I _love_?” She drops her gaze. “I believe what you say about me, Clint. I do. But I cannot call almost not killing you a success.”

Clint finds himself thinking of Natasha, but stops himself from saying anything out loud. As much as Natasha had tried to reach out and connect with Wanda by hooking into the same things that had been a foundation of creating who they both were, Clint also knew Natasha's life experiences weren't anything close to the mental strain of what Wanda was grappling with.

It didn’t mean she didn’t need to be pushed by someone who believed in her, however.

“Because I trust you,” he says finally. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Wanda nods slowly, her eyes clearing, moving to the spots on his neck that he knows are bruised deep purple. “Are you sure you are not hurt?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, though his shoulder and neck are more sore than he wants to admit. “I’ll be fine. Years with Natasha, remember? It’s not like I’ve never been placed in a chokehold before. Usually, it’s voluntary.”

Wanda looks a little comforted but shakes again when she stares down at her hands, which are emitting bright red sparks, shooting flames into the heavy night. “How...how did you know I was going to stop him?”

Clint closes his eyes briefly. “I didn’t,” he admits. “But like I said, I knew you. However you feel, whatever doubts you have about your abilities, whatever you believe about what they’re saying...you didn’t want to be locked up in there, Wanda. And you didn’t deserve it.”

“But you also know how I feel about Vision,” Wanda says uncertainly. “And he was only trying to do what he thought was right. He did not want to see me get hurt. He was not the one that made the decision to keep me here.” Wanda pauses and looks down. “What if I had chosen differently?”

Clint shrugs. “I guess I’d be a dead surrogate dad, then. Come on. Car’s this way.”

Wanda follows slowly until they reach the large garage at the other end of the compound, and Clint points out the bright red Porsche. He lets Wanda slide into the passenger seat while he pulls some wires out from under the dash, stripping them to the metal and eventually allowing the engine to cough to life.

“You need anything before we hit the road? Coffee? Food? Paprika?”

“It is paprikash,” Wanda says, rolling her head to the side. “I am fine, Clint. But I would like some of Laura’s cooking.”

“You and me both,” Clint says, peering at the road as they start to drive, his belly heavy with emotion and loneliness. “First stop when this is all over, I promise. We’ll go back to the farm, and Laura will make that sweet potato and marshmallow dish you love so much. The kids will crawl all over you, Lila will make sure you listen to an entire play-by-play of her dance recital, and Nate will drool on your arm. I’ll be asleep in front of the TV while you deal with my children, until Laura yells at me.”

“When this is all over,” Wanda muses. “You were not there when Secretary Ross came to talk to us. You did not hear what he said about me being dangerous. You do not know the threats that he made.”

“I heard about it,” Clint mutters, before raising his voice. “I didn’t need to be there. I know enough.”

“Then you know that we are breaking the law,” Wanda continues. “We did not sign these Accords, Clint. And we are helping people that did not sign these Accords, either. Our actions will not be ignored if things go wrong.” She twirls dark hair around her finger. “You said Cap needed our help.”

“He does.” Clint thinks of his phone call with Natasha. “Cap and his friend Barnes are in Germany. Caught up in some sort of...well, all I know is there's a bunch of super soldiers who want to wreak havoc, and that idiot Ross gave an ultimatum to bring Cap's friend in. Cap knows Stark is coming for him, and he needs back-up. So, I guess we’re back-up.”

“We are breaking the law,” Wanda repeats, and Clint grunts.

“Not like I’ve never been outside of the law before, Wanda. I mean, it’s been awhile, but I’ll live. And it’s a good excuse to get you out of the house, right?”

“That is not the point,” Wanda stresses. “You are taking risks, Clint. Risks that could keep you away from your wife and children.”

“Look, I know the risks,” Clint says impatiently, his hands tightening over the steering wheel as his anger festers. “So does Laura, and so does Natasha. My family knows the risks that I take every single time I step out the door, and they have for years. But did you want to be locked up in there forever, feeling like a dangerous criminal? Because I wasn’t going to let you stay there like that, even if the fucking _law_ said otherwise!”

“And maybe you _should_ have,” Wanda shoots back angrily before falling into silence, allowing the argument to settle. “You said that we had another stop.”

“Scott Lang,” Clint says after a moment, recalling the short conversation he’d had with Steve after he landed in New York. “Put in some superhero work at Pym Technologies, apparently. Convicted criminal _and_  a family man, which seems to stack up pretty well in our line of work.”

Wanda eyes him carefully. “And are you chartering us all a private jet to Germany?”

Clint snorts. “Not exactly. I’m thinking of calling in favors from an old friend.”

“Oh.” Wanda sits back in her seat, studying the windshield intently. “What about Natasha?”

Clint sighs. “What _about_ Natasha?”

“You are not with her.”

“No,” Clint says heavily. “I'm disappointing my kids, remember? Natasha is working with Stark, and I’m staying with you.”

“Is that what you want?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Clint asks, shooting her a glare. “Of _course_ it’s what I want.”

“I did not ask you to defend yourself,” Wanda replies steadily. “I want to know why you did it.”

 _I want to know why you came to me. I want to know why you left your family, why you saved me, when you could have gone to help your partner and your best friend. I want to know why you put yourself in danger of not coming home._ Clint doesn’t have to ask her to elaborate, because the tone of her voice says everything that she’s not saying out loud.

“You already know.”

When Wanda speaks again, her voice is quiet, tinged with sadness. “You have a family, Clint.”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “But I owed you a debt. So --”

“So that gives you the right to abandon your wife? Your children? Pietro saved you so you could go home! Not so you could throw your life away again!”

Clint is both surprised and taken aback by the sharpness coloring her tone. “I didn’t abandon them,” he snaps, his knuckles folding around the steering wheel. He tries and fails to keep Cooper’s cross face and Lila’s tearful eyes out of his mind. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to go and fight, I didn’t leave my kids crying in their beds because I missed shooting some arrows! I left for _you_ , Wanda! You’re my family, too!”

Wanda’s mouth opens, as if she means to say something else, and then she closes it slowly. “It was supposed to be different,” she murmurs after a long pause, and Clint looks up and over.

“What?”

Wanda smiles faintly. “Everything. When we did not train, I played my guitar and tried to remember what you taught me. I recorded some videos to send to Laura and Cooper. I think I left them behind in my room. When I couldn’t sleep, I would get up in the middle of the night and make myself tea. Sometimes, Sam would be up, too. We would play chess together, and he would make fun of me for always beating him.” Her voice becomes softer, as if she’s breaking down her own walls with her stories. “Steve would get up late, when he was not worried about the world. We would have breakfast, the three of us, and Sam would make coffee. Sometimes, Natasha would be there. She always tried to make me feel included. Vision would try to talk to me about all my favorite hobbies. I could tell it was his way of trying to figure out what I liked. I would think about the things I would need to tell you when you called, and what I would tell Laura. It felt like I had a family again.”

Clint watches Wanda out of the corner of his eye, the way her face changes, the hope and fondness of the memories that she’s talking about fading the same way a dream might fade from your mind when you realize it’s too good to be true. “You still do,” he says, putting his hand over hers. “Even if it’s not the Avengers, you still have a family. You have me, and Natasha, and Laura. We’re not going to fall apart on you, Wanda. And I’m never _not_ going to be there for you when you need it. I made you a promise in Sokovia, and I’m never breaking that promise. Even if you do try to kill me one day.”

Wanda nods, her eyes brimming with tears, fingers curling around his palm in silent thanks.

They drive for at least two hours, Wanda napping on and off and curled into the seat next to Clint with her legs tucked underneath her. When they cross the border into Philadelphia, Clint pulls over at a sleepy-looking Days Inn. After making sure Wanda is still more or less out of it, he steps out of the car and grabs one of the many burner phones he’d unearthed from the storage case in the basement, punching in a number he’s scribbled onto a piece of notebook paper.

“Cap.”

“Barton.”

“I’ve got Wanda.” He looks back at the car again. “We’re stopped in Philly for the night.”

“Nice work,” Steve says, though it sounds like he’s distracted. “If you need any help getting to Germany --”

“Nah,” Clint interrupts. “I’m good. Got my own contacts for that.”

“Right. Any chance you can use those contacts to set up a chopper at Leipzig Airport, then? We’re going to need it to get Barnes out of here.”

“Probably,” Clint allows, chewing on the inside of his mouth. It’s a risk, given he hasn’t actually made the call he knows he needs to make, but he’s willing to be optimistic about the outcome.

“Barton.” Steve’s voice turns serious. “You know Romanoff is with Tony?”

Clint rubs his knuckles against his eyes, squeezing them shut. “Yeah. I do.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Clint shrugs listlessly, even though he knows Steve can’t see him. “It’s the job,” he says, feeling tired. He imagines Steve giving him one of his serious looks, the ones that made him seem like he was a father figure even above Clint, despite the fact Clint knew that Steve’s parenting skills were about as good as Nate’s current sleeping habits.

“Well, we’re all glad you’re back in the game. When you get here, meet us on the upper level of the parking deck. We’ll be waiting.”

“Not even a goddamn crack about whether or not I’m sleeping with Nat,” Clint mutters as the call drops, almost sad about that fact, because it’s admittedly fun to play with Steve when he gets the chance. He fiddles with the phone again.

 

 

Clint smiles grimly at the text and then punches in another number, perking up when the call connects. “Excuse me, is this the residence of Hawkeye's amazing and super hot wife?”

“You’re an idiot,” Laura responds, but her voice is soft and relieved. “Stop calling so late.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, though he knows she’s not as annoyed as she sounds. “I don’t -- I’ll try to be better.”

“No,” Laura says. “You know that I’d rather you called late than not at all. Though I wish the kids could talk to you.”

“It’s better that they don’t,” Clint says, and even though the words are true, they break his heart. “They’ll want to talk to Nat, and…and that’s not an option right now.”

Laura’s voice shifts to confusion. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not with her, and I don’t know when I will be,” he answers, hoping Laura won’t press him for more.

“Oh.” She swallows, letting silence fill the line. “Is Wanda -- did you --”

“Yeah.” Clint looks at the car again. “Yeah, she’s okay. We ran into some complications while getting her out.”

“Complications?” Laura asks hesitantly.

“Androids that also double as potential boyfriends to surrogate daughters. You know, the usual.” He smiles, rubbing his neck again. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“You’re sure?” Laura asks doubtfully.

“Yes, ma’am. One hundred and ten percent sure. I know it’s not Natasha’s word, which you always take over mine, but trust me. A few bruises, but better than hitting my head on the basement ceiling again.”

“You’re an asshole,” Laura says softly, and Clint pictures her sitting on the bed, dragging her knees up to her chest as she says the words.

“I know.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Listen. I gotta go help Cap on this one. And Nat told me I need to stay with Wanda, and so that’s what I’m gonna do. But it means going against these Accords.”

“That you didn’t sign,” Laura says, understanding lacing her voice.

“Yeah, well.” Clint swallows hard. “Let’s just hope Ross accepts retirement as an excuse if I get put on trial or something.” He bites down on his lip. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if _anything_ is going to happen. But there are stakes this time.”

“There are always stakes,” Laura points out. “Suddenly, you breaking the law is something different?”

Clint realizes he doesn’t know what to say to that. “It’s not just about me breaking the law,” he says, thinking of Wanda’s words. “I’m _outside_ the law, Laura. There’s a difference. If things go wrong...if anything happens. I just want...I need you to know that I love you.”

“Clint.” Laura suddenly sounds like she wants to cry. “I love you, too. I love you and I love Natasha, and I’m willing to let you take these risks _because_ of that.”

Clint suddenly finds that he can’t breathe, and waits for a moment so that he can compose himself before speaking again. “In the closet, where I keep my bow, there’s a tan bag. Inside there should be a burner phone, a list of numbers, and an ID under the name of Laura Martinelli.”

“Clint --”

“There are also access codes to a bank account that's wired directly to Fury and Hill. They can help get you anything you need, money-wise, so you don’t leave a credit card trail anywhere. All you should have to worry about grabbing are clothes for you and the kids.”

“Clint…” Laura’s voice trails off. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need you to be prepared. Just trust me, okay? And promise me that if anything happens, if you feel scared, if you feel even the slightest bit threatened or worried, you’ll use that phone and take the kids and at least get to a motel or something. Preferably one in another state, or a few hours away, and not someplace familiar.” He clutches the phone tighter. “Promise me, Laura.”

“Okay,” Laura says after a long moment, her voice just above a whisper. “I promise.”

Clint lets out a breath. “Good. I’m gonna be out of pocket for a bit. I need to get overseas and I might not be able to call you.”

“Typical,” Laura teases wearily. “Dare I ask how you’re getting out of the country? Your passport is sitting in our desk.”

“You and Natasha," Clint mutters. "I called in an old friend.”

Laura snorts. “Girlfriend?”

“Kind of,” Clint admits. “I mean, she was never really a _girlfriend_ except for that one time I went off the grid during a military stay in the Poconos...oh, nevermind,” he rushes on when Laura starts clearing her throat loudly. “Anyway, she’s kind of off the grid as well.”

“Right,” Laura says with a sigh. “So, this is perfectly safe.”

“Isn’t _everything_ that we do perfectly safe?” Clint asks sarcastically. Laura groans.

“I guess calling in an old girlfriend that I don’t know about is a lot better than you calling some dangerous person that could murder me in my sleep.”

“Hey, I only brought home one Natasha,” Clint protests. “And she became your wife, so cut me some slack.”

“I’ve been doing that for fifteen years,” Laura replies. “Speaking of Natasha, how _is_ my wife?”

“I haven’t talked to her much,” Clint admits. “I’m supposed to meet up with her in Germany. I think…” He trails off, rubbing his eyes. “We both miss you. We both want to be home.”

“Well.” Laura swallows, and it sounds like she’s forcing herself to sound firm. “Like you tell Wanda, get off your ass. And come home.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Tell the kids I love them?”

“Of course,” Laura says softly. When she hangs up, Clint feels lost, as if he’s abandoned the lifeline he’s been holding onto and is now untethered, falling away into a void of uncertainty. Wanda’s still sleeping, or at least, Clint assumes she is; her body is still except for her breathing and her face is relaxed.

“Hey,” he whispers after he opens the door, stroking her hair, trying not to think of Lila as he does so. Wanda jerks awake, and Clint draws back in turn.

“Easy,” he says as red energy starts to untangle from her fingers, her breathing quick and her face hardened in defense. “Easy, Wanda. It’s just me.”

Wanda exhales loudly, her shaking body sagging against the seat, and the sparks shooting from her hands disappear as she registers his face. “Sorry.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t throw a knife at my head this time,” Clint says, feeling better when she at least smiles. “Wanna get some shut eye, for real?”

“I thought we had one more stop.” Wanda gets out of the car, stretching her legs and staring up at the motel.

“We do, but I need at least a partial nap before then, or I’m going to pass out. So, if you want, I’ll splurge on a room for at least the next hour, which is gonna be a lot more comfortable for both of us. Two beds. Maybe a mini fridge. We’ll live on the edge.”

“You really are a father,” Wanda notes and Clint groans as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t even joke. Natasha would make so much fun of me if she was here right now.” He heads off to ring the bell in the darkened lobby, dolling a few wads of cash out of his wallet when the sleepy receptionist finally wanders towards the desk. Once he’s acquired keys, he goes back to the car and leads Wanda to a room a few doors down from where they’ve parked. Inside, he practically flops down on the bed, while Wanda carefully lowers herself to the mattress of the other bed. Clint immediately picks up on her body language, the way she’s hesitant and scared, as if she’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Here,” Clint says, tossing a small package that he grabs from inside his jacket. Wanda picks it up, looking at it quizzically.

“What is this?”

“Your new ID and your passport as Laura Mathers -- one of Natasha’s old aliases I pulled from our files,” Clint says, indicating the papers. “I can get us travel to Germany, but we need to land outside of the main airfield and go through customs in order to actually get anywhere after that, which means we probably need to pass through heavy security. I can get us through with little issue, but I want to be prepared, just in case.”

Wanda looks even more uncomfortable as he speaks, so Clint takes out his phone, rolling over. “Also, there are new pictures of the kids. Thought you’d want to see.”

Wanda gives him a small smile and takes the phone from his hands, her body relaxing as she scrolls through the many pictures and videos Clint knows are piled up in the photos section of his iPhone.

“That’s from a few days ago, at the lake,” Clint explains when she gets to a photo of Cooper grinning and Lila standing in front of her brother with her arms spread out like a bird, grinning wildly.

“They look different,” Wanda notices, squinting at the screen. “Even Lila. I know I just saw them, but they seem like they have gotten bigger.”

“Yeah. Babies aren’t the only ones who change quickly,” Clint says with a hint of remorse. “Learned that the hard way a few years ago. Anyway, you should know that Lila asked about you. She said she can’t wait until you come back to play with her.”

Wanda smiles, looking down at the photos again. She brushes a finger against the screen, which now shows a picture of Nate with baby food all over his face. “I never thanked you,” she says as she hands the phone back. Clint frowns.

“For what?”

“For saving me today. But also, for saving my brother. When Sokovia fell.” She shudders. “He could have died on that city that took so much from us.”

“He saved me,” Clint says, feeling a little helpless. “I couldn’t just leave him there like that. It was the least I could do. He deserved more…a funeral, a proper burial. _Something_.” He sighs, rubbing his face. “Everyone always deserves more, and I can never give them enough.”

Wanda gets up and sits down next to Clint, putting a hand on his leg. “I know that you worry about yourself. You are worried about your family, about leaving them, about being a bad person. But I look at you, Clint Barton, and I see a good man. A man who loves his family and the people that he chooses to protect.”

“A good man,” Clint mutters, his mind settling on Loki. “You never went into my head.”

“No,” Wanda agrees. “I did not. You stabbed me with an arrow, remember?”

“Yeah.” Clint laughs quietly at the memory. “I did. Sorry. I just --”

“Self defense was ingrained in you. You did not think about who you were hurting," Wanda continues wisely, and Clint startles at her own words being thrown back in his face. "But I can see and feel things without using my powers like that.”

"You can?" Somehow, the admission makes Clint feel like he’s been stripped naked. 

"Yes," Wanda acknowledges. "I can."

“Will you..." Clint blinks quickly. "Will you show me?”

“Not now,” Wanda says, shaking her head. “It is not a good time, now.”

“But will you?” Clint presses, suddenly overcome with a need to know. “Eventually?”

Wanda nods. “Eventually. If you want me to.” She puts an arm around his shoulder, hugging him gently. “You know that these are not kind memories, the ones that I can pull out of people’s heads.”

He does know, because he knows Natasha’s memories, and he shivers remembering how hard he had to work in order to snap her out of her stupor in Sokovia. While he knows he shouldn’t provoke this particular point, he also can’t help but feel like he needs to, especially now that he’s putting his life on the line for someone else all over again.

“You should sleep, Clint.” Wanda’s voice is soft, and she strokes his hair. “You are going to be grumpy if you don’t.”

“Who gave you the right to be my wife’s proxy?” he grumbles but he lies down anyway, folding his arms under his head, willing himself to return to his exhausted state. “I’ll set my alarm.”

“Do not bother,” Wanda says as she moves to the other bed. “I can keep watch and wake you.”

“You’re not going to sleep?” Clint asks, and Wanda shakes her head.

“I slept in the car. But I find I do not sleep much anymore. Maybe one day, that will change.” She shrugs sadly. “For now, I am okay.”

Clint wants to say something else but finds that he can’t, and he decides to take up Wanda’s offer, given that his eyes keep growing heavier and heavier. He lets himself drift off, falling asleep to Wanda humming the chords from “Eleanor Rigby” under her breath.

 

***

 

A sharp, rolling clap of thunder jolts Laura awake.

She jerks upwards, only then realizing that the space beside her is cold and empty; she curls her fingers back stiffly, her other hand reaching out to meet nothingness. In the midst of Mother Nature’s fading anger, Laura heaves out a quiet sigh, tugging the covers higher over her chest. They had returned from the lake house earlier in the week, Lila moping considerably upon coming back to the empty, dark home that felt even emptier without Clint and Natasha accompanying her. Laura, who had felt as morose as her daughter, had pushed aside her feelings to focus on Cooper, who still harbored a healthy amount of anger towards Clint's departure. But her son had adopted the mantle of “grown-up” with all the dedication and confidence of his father; in the days since they had returned, Cooper had spent a considerable amount of time helping Lila take her mind off the absence of two of her parents.

A second clap of thunder assaults her ears, and the noise is soon followed by a loud cry. Laura, who has pretty much been anticipating this moment, immediately swings her legs out of bed and walks over to the crib, which she’s moved back into their room. Part of it had been because with Natasha and Clint away, she felt safer having her baby a little closer, but she doesn’t deny that the other part of it had been because she needed to feel like she wasn’t totally alone.

“Hey, little man. What’s wrong, did the thunder scare you?” She scoops up Nate and brings him to her chest, cuddling him. Nate continues to cry, fat crocodile tears slipping down his puffy cheeks as he claws at Laura’s shirt. She checks her watch and then glances out the window, realizing it’s only one in the morning, despite a sky that looks lighter than usual.

“I know, I know...I was scared of thunder when I was a little girl, too.” Laura walks back to the bed, sitting down. “I always ran to my mommy’s room to cuddle with her. But now I’m not scared anymore. Do you know why?” She kisses Nate on the head, trying to calm him down. “Daddy has a friend. His name is Thor, and he has a long red cape like the color of your favorite firetruck and long blonde hair, and he protects your daddy. I know you don’t know him, but he makes a lot of noise when he’s angry. That’s all you’re hearing right now. Just daddy’s friend getting angry because of something. Maybe he’s upset because daddy and Natasha are gone, too.”

Nate sniffles and continues to cry, and Laura hugs him more tightly. “I love your happy side, your sad side, your silly side, your mad side, I love your fingers and toes, your ears and nose.” She lays him on his back against her thighs, tickling his stomach lightly with her fingers. “I love your hair and eyes, your giggles and cries. I love you running and walking, silent and talking. I love you through and through...yesterday, today and tomorrow, too,” she finishes softly. By the time she’s done talking, Nate’s cries have abated somewhat, and he’s even giggling a little bit, and Laura finds herself thankful that her son has absorbed more of her daughter’s qualities than her first born’s when it came to calming down. _At least with three kids, we get one who behaves well enough_ , she thinks as she gets up, still rocking the baby. _Follows orders, even. Just like his namesake_. Laura does a quick check to find that he needs a diaper change.

“Your daddy is very angry he’s missing another one of these,” she says as she lays him on the dresser, tearing off the diaper and wiping him clean. “He’d _much_ rather be changing you. Natasha, too. She’ll never admit it, but I’ll tell you so that you know.” Laura deposits the dirty diaper in the trashcan and attaches the new diaper with ease, and then lifts him up again, realizing the thunder is no longer booming loudly, the storm presumably having passed over them.

“Let’s see if we can get you back to sleep, okay, little man?” She gently lowers the baby into his crib and Nate immediately rolls over onto his back, clawing at the air and at the arrow mobile attached to the rails. Laura gives up, figuring that as long as he seems complacent enough, she can let him stay awake.

The problem is, she’s also too awake. She considers the possible options for her insomnia -- coffee, a book, music -- and finds herself standing at the shelf on the far side of the room, pulling out a large, leather-bound album that’s stuffed between old children’s books and a few diaries. Laura sits down on the floor, backed against the bed, placing the book on her knees while tracing the letters **L.N.F. + C.F.B.** with her index finger.

“Mommy?”

Laura looks up with a start as the bedroom door opens slowly, Lila’s small face peeking around the frame. She breathes out slowly, letting her lips fold into a soft, comforting smile.

“Hey, Lila baby. Did the storm wake you?”

Lila nods, sucking her thumb more vigorously, and Laura holds out her hand.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Lila pads across the room and drops down into Laura’s lap, leaning back against her chest.

“You miss Aunt Nat?” Laura asks softly, knowing that Natasha would normally be the one out of bed and in the little girl’s room. Lila nods again.

“The...the thunder was loud. It was too scary.”

Laura kisses her gently. “I know. Hey, you wanna see something fun?” She opens the book on her lap, and points to a photograph. “That’s daddy.”

“No, it’s not!” Lila refutes with a giggle, her thumb sliding out of her mouth. “He’s ugly!”

Laura bites back a laugh, because aside from the much younger features and squeaky clean face free of any kind of stubble, Clint does look considerably more boyish, his looks still figuring out how to catch up with the rest of him.

“It is, and even though he was ugly, I married him,” Laura says, bending down to kiss Lila’s cheek as she giggles more. “Do you know who that is?”

“That’s mommy!” Lila leans over and presses two hands against the photograph. “Mommy’s hair was really, really long!”

“Yes, it was,” Laura says with a nod. “Do you like mommy’s dress?”

“Mommy’s dress is pretty,” Lila agrees, and then she squints closer at the photo. “That’s our house!”

“That’s right.” Laura stares at the photograph of her and Clint standing on the beach with the lake house behind them. “That’s where mommy and daddy got married. A long, long, time ago, before you were even alive.” She tries to keep the crack out of her voice as she sifts through the pages, turning them to reveal more photos.

“Grandma and grandpa! And daddy again!” Lila’s face is a mask of happiness, and Laura smiles, taking comfort in her daughter’s emotions. Lila’s face suddenly twists into a frown, her small forehead crinkling into wrinkles.

“Where’s Tasha?”

Laura sucks in a breath at the question as Lila turns her head and looks Laura straight in the eye.

“Mommy, Tasha’s not in the pictures.”

Laura takes a few seconds to figure out how to respond. “No, Lila baby. Aunt Tasha’s not in the pictures.”

“Why not?” Lila asks in confusion. “Tasha’s always been here. Tasha’s always been my mommy.”

Laura swallows. “Well. Aunt Tasha wasn’t there when mommy and daddy were married,” she replies carefully. At this admission, Lila looks even more puzzled.

“But why not?”

“Because mommy and daddy met Tasha after these pictures were taken.”

“Oh.” Lila turns her head and looks at the photos again, eagerly peering at the pages. “But does Tasha have pictures with a dress, too?”

Laura pats Lila’s arm carefully, indicating that she needs to get up, and walks over to the dresser. She selects a photo in a silver frame, the one taken the day of their vow renewal and wedding -- an iPhone selfie of all three of them sitting on the beach, Laura and Clint smiling serenely, Natasha’s makeup smudged thanks to her tears. 

“That’s Tasha and mommy and daddy when Tasha had her dress,” she says softly, bringing the photo back and handing it to Lila, who smiles in delight.

“I love Tasha and mommy and daddy!”

“I know you do.” Laura sits back down. “And you know that we all love you very much?”

Lila nods. “I know. You love me to the moon and back, like daddy tells me all the time. Even when daddy and Tasha go away.”

“Even when daddy and Tasha go away,” Laura repeats quietly, and Lila snuggles into her mom.

“Can we have hot chocolate? Tasha lets me have hot chocolate when I’m scared.”

Laura hesitates, because in some sense, she knows this is bad parenting. She glances at the clock, affirming her decision -- Lila should be in bed, they all had to be up for school and work in a few hours. She tries to ignore the mom voice blaring through her head because the truth is, her five-year-old’s mind is too much in tune with her own, and she’s not exactly ready to be alone with her thoughts, either.

“Yes,” she decides, standing and grabbing a blanket from the bed as well as the baby monitor from the dresser. She holds Lila’s hand tightly as they walk down the stairs, and Lila waits patiently in the kitchen while Laura fills a mug with hot chocolate powder and half a cup of instant hot water. She hands Lila the cup she knows she likes to use: a blue mug with yellow and red hearts on it, the handle chipped from where she had knocked it against the table by accident. Lila takes the mug with two hands, following her mother outside.

Laura keeps the door half open and sits on the porch swing, Lila settling next to her. The storm has fully passed over them now, cool wind from the quick rain sweeping along the lawn, heavy and chilling. There's a lingering rumble of thunder in the distance followed by a brilliant flash of lightning that shatters the sky into a thousand diamonds. Lila whimpers, curling into her mother.

“Let’s talk about Aunt Tasha,” Laura says, wrapping the blanket and an arm around her daughter as the thunder fades again. “What do you like about Aunt Tasha?”

“She’s my mommy,” Lila says, sipping her hot chocolate slowly. “And she was with me every day when I was a baby. An’ sometimes you and daddy and Tasha sit on the couch together and watch movies. Tasha reads me all my books and says she loves me and takes me to the park, an’ we have parties together. That’s why mommy Tasha is the best mommy. An’ do you wanna know why I call her Auntie Nat?”

“Why?” Laura asks, playing along even though she knows the answer.

“I call her Auntie Nat cause Cooper told me that’s what I should call her. Cause it made her special. Like Tasha-Nate is special.” She grins, a brown mustache crawling along her upper lip. “Mommy?”

“Yes?” Laura looks down at her daughter, who giggles.

“It’s okay if you love Tasha more than daddy.”

Laura does a double take, half from surprise and half from amusement. “Who said I love Natasha more than daddy?”

Lila’s now snuggling against Laura in a way that she recognizes as her daughter wanting cuddle, so Laura gently wrestles the mug out of Lila’s hand, placing it on the small table next to the porch swing. “You kiss her more than daddy,” Lila says, looking up from underneath a mess of scraggly hair. Laura strokes her head.

“Yes. I sometimes do,” she admits, feeling grateful she can be open and honest with her daughter, even if Lila doesn’t yet know the specifics of their relationship. “But I love Natasha and daddy exactly the same. I always have. And I hope you never forget that, Lila baby, because we love you very much. To the moon and back, right?”

“To the moon and back,” Lila murmurs, her breath warm against Laura's pajamas. Laura kisses her gently, allowing her to drift off while she stares out across the farm. Everything is quiet now, but it’s a peaceful quiet; and even Laura feels a little lighter, as if the storm has washed away all the dark clouds that have hung over the house in the days since they'd returned. Laura takes a deep breath of sharp new air and closes her eyes.

If she wishes hard enough, she thinks maybe she’ll be that much closer to to her family coming home.

 

***

 

The more time that Natasha spends in Berlin, the more she feels unsettled.

It had been bad enough watching Barnes after he was captured and then interrogated -- she had felt too much like she was back at SHIELD in those first few days after escaping the Red Room; her skin had crawled as she watched the video feeds but she had kept herself calm and stoic. Everyone expected that of Natasha Romanov, Level Seven, former assassin and SHIELD agent who shot guns and tased enemies, because Berlin wasn’t a place where anyone would suspect that the arms that held themselves rigid and brittle would hug a child or whisper away a nightmare, and Natasha is determined to keep it that way. She’d already given up too much, when she was too compromised to think about anything else other than the needs of her own heart.

After Tony leaves for New York, where he claims his mysterious reinforcement that’s _not_ Rhodey is located, she wanders slowly throughout the facility until she reaches the office that T’Challa has more or less been confined to. Natasha stands outside for a long time, before raising her fist to knock softly.

“You can come in, you know. I do not bite.”

Natasha smiles in slight embarrassment as she opens the door. “I wasn’t aware I was being watched, Your Highness.”

“It is a two-way glass,” T’Challa explains as she steps inside. “For my protection, I suppose. And please, do not call me Your Highness. I appreciate your respect, Miss Romanova, but I do not need my friends to be so formal around me.”

“Don’t call me Miss Romanova, then, and we have a deal,” Natasha replies, keeping her smile intact. “Besides, we both know formalities aren’t for me.”

“Nor are they for me,” T’Challa agrees, and Natasha suddenly sees a mirror image of the Sokovia Accords signing, the first time she had taken in his presence, everything about him regal and commanding and secure. “Did they find them? Barnes and the Captain?”

Natasha shakes her head. “Not yet. Secretary Ross has given us thirty-six hours, but we’re pretty sure they haven’t left the country. Hopefully, we can bring them in.”

“Hopefully,” T’Challa repeats, his fists tightening. “If not, we will work together to take the appropriate measures.”

“And what measures would those be, _Your Highness_?”

T’Challa looks up and eyes Natasha for a long time, his face crinkling and narrowing in understanding. “You do not want to fight.”

“No,” Natasha says with a short laugh, surprised by his simple acceptance. “I guess I don’t. They’re my friends.”

“They are also criminals,” T’Challa responds. “Your friends killed my father. They need to be brought to justice.”

“Barnes killed your father, not Cap,” Natasha argues gently, and T’Challa shakes his head.

“Sometimes, you have to separate friendship and politics. It is the only way for justice to prevail. It is what a good leader makes a choice to do.”

“And what about me?” Natasha asks, her voice soft but laced with ice. “Am I not also a criminal?”

T’Challa purses his lips, putting his hands on the table. “Violence is not in your blood, Miss Romanova.”

Natasha tries to stop an outright laugh, but doesn’t actually succeed. “That’s not true,” she says in a low voice. “You know about the Black Widows and what they did to the Dora Milaje. You know about our history.”

“I do,” T’Challa acknowledges. “You know that the Black Panther is a mantle that has been passed down to me, the same way the Black Widow name was a mantle that was passed down to you. But as keepers of our own game, we decide how we wear that mantle, do we not? It does not need to mean the same thing in every incarnation.”

Natasha meets his eyes, and then looks down. “It doesn’t have to mean violence,” she says softly. T'Challa nods.

“For you, maybe not. But for me, I must avenge.”

“I know,” Natasha says, raising her eyes again. “And that’s why I came to talk to you. I want you to help us bring them in.” When T’Challa doesn’t answer, she sighs. “Barnes. Rogers. Wilson. They’re teaming up with some other people, and Stark and I can’t fight them alone.”

“So you are indeed fighting a war that you do not want,” T’Challa surmises. Natasha swallows, thinking of Laura and the farm, trying to compartmentalize the feelings worming their way into her heart.

“I’m fighting a war that I don’t want, but I don’t have a choice. I have a family to protect.” She steadies her gaze. “I don’t think we can win this, but if we don’t bring them in, someone else will. And that could be far worse for everyone.”

“Yes,” T’Challa agrees. “It could.” He pauses, looking Natasha up and down. “I will help you, then. If it will help both of us.”

Natasha lets out a breath she hasn't realized she's been holding. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “There’s...I did want to ask you something else, while I was here.”

“I am listening,” T’Challa says, inclining his head. Natasha points to the phone on his desk.

“Two minutes. A private phone call from your direct line. Please. It’s...it’s important, and I can’t imagine they’re tracking your every move down here.” She holds his gaze, praying that he won’t try to grill her about her request, hoping that she’s given him enough of her trust that he can believe she’s not going to go behind his back.

“Yes. I will allow you that, Natasha,” he says after a long pause. “Please lock the door behind you when you leave.” He walks out of the room and Natasha checks her watch -- two in the afternoon and seven in the morning at the farm, which means Laura will be up as well as the kids -- and then dials the number she knows by heart.

“Hello?”

Laura’s voice is cautious, and Natasha suspects she has every right to be -- an unidentifiable number while they’re away might mean Natasha; in this day in age it might also mean a telemarketer and it might also mean an enemy.

“Laura.”

“Nat. Oh, Nat. Natasha…” Laura sounds emotional, the cracks in her voice giving out. “Clint called earlier, but I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“I know,” she says, because while they’ve always tried to call Laura as much as possible when they were on the road, they normally don’t check in so often. “Are you okay?”

“As well as I can be.” Natasha imagines her sitting or maybe standing in the house, toes and fingers flexed, a face lined with worry that she knows she can hide because she can’t be seen. “What about you?”

“I’m fine,” Natasha answers with as much honesty as she can muster. “For now. It’s…” _I want to come home._ “It’s been a rough few hours. When did you speak to Clint?”

“Last night. Or this morning, really. I don’t think I have any concept of time anymore. He told me to...to be safe, and that if anything happens, we needed to be prepared.”

Natasha swallows, thinking of the emergency kit they'd stashed in the closet years ago, after New York. “I know it’s not ideal. And I hope it doesn’t come to that. But it’s the only way for us to make sure that you’re safe if we’re not there. These Accords have consequences, and this is Ross we’re dealing with. I need this family to be safe. You know that.”

“I know,” Laura says softly. “Clint hasn’t talked to you?”

Natasha closes her eyes. “No,” she says, her gut twisting for more than one reason. “He...I can’t explain it, but it’s not safe for us to talk right now, with everything going on. He needs to make sure Wanda is okay, and I need to make sure the rest of the team is okay. How’s Cooper?”

“Managing,” Laura says in a voice that Natasha knows is pretend optimism. “He asked a lot of questions this morning. I didn’t realize how different it would be to have him aware of things, now that Clint’s away. I tried to answer the best I could, but...anyway, he’s got a math test this week, and a soccer game. Parent teacher conferences are around the corner, if your Avenger mind can remember that.”

“Then let’s hope I’m home for them,” Natasha says, trying to sound positive. “Although, I really hate that science teacher he has. She's never made a good impression on me. Lila?”

“Good,” Laura says after a beat. “She -- she lost another tooth yesterday. And she's almost done with most of the books we got her last week.”

“Already?” Natasha asks in dismay, and Laura laughs.

“Yes. You’re her mother, you know how fast she reads.” Her voice drops an octave. “They -- they want to say hi. I haven’t told them you’re on the phone. I don’t know if I can.”

Natasha bites down on her lip, trying to weigh how much time she’s been given against her own needs. “I can talk for a few minutes,” she decides, and the moment she says the words, Lila’s shrill voice is transmitting over the phone, her words coming out fast and breathless.

“Auntie Nat! Auntie Nat Auntie Nat Auntie Nat, I miss you!”

“I miss you too, Lila baby. Are you behaving?”

“I’m being very good to mommy because you asked me to. An’ mommy even let me have hot chocolate last night when it was really late. We looked at pictures of you when you married daddy and mommy.” Before Natasha can reply, Cooper’s wrestling the phone out of his sister’s hand.

“Nat!”

“Hey, kiddo.” Natasha tries to smile, even though she knows no one can see her. “Soccer this week?”

“Yeah. I mean, if I don’t screw up my math test.” She can almost see the face he’s making as he says the words, a mirror image of his father’s self-deprecating scowl.

“You’ll do great,” Natasha encourages. “I promise. Remember all the tricks I showed you?”

“Mmmhmm,” Cooper agrees. “But, I dunno, I do better when you’re here and you can help me.”

“Just think of this like when I used to go away with your dad. And your mom’s great at math,” Natasha reminds him. “She majored in chemistry, remember?”

“I know. Are you doing cool spy things at work? With dad?”

“Kind of,” Natasha admits. “I promise I’ll have a lot of stories for you when I come home.”

“Can we have story time while we work on my bow together? With dad and Wanda?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Natasha replies. “Are you being good to your mom and sister? And your brother?”

“Yeah,” Cooper grumbles in the same voice Clint uses when he's being pressed about something he doesn't really want to do. “Can’t I make fun of Lila just once? Please? Like, it can be our secret?”

“Absolutely not,” Natasha admonishes. “I told you, no torturing either of your siblings while we're away. Or I’ll beat you up myself.”

“Aw, come on.”

“That’s enough, young man,” Laura chastises as she takes the phone back. “I may be bending the rules while Natasha and dad are away, but I’m _not_ going to allow you to get beat up by your own mother. And Natasha needs to go back to work.”

“I was just asking about school,” Cooper mutters as his voice drops out of earshot and Laura sighs.

“Kids. I swear, one day I’m just going to beat them up myself.”

“Laura Barton,” Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Maybe we _are_ rubbing off on you after all these years.”

“More than you know. Come home soon, okay?”

“As soon as I can,” Natasha promises. She glances up and spies Rhodey walking through the halls, knowing she’s used up more than her allocated precious time. Laura seems to sense it in the same way that she normally tends to be in tune with her partners, whispering that she loves her before hanging up. Natasha puts the phone down and then moves her hand to her throat.

“I love you to the moon and back,” she murmurs, thinking of the book she always reads Lila at bedtime, the one that was inherited from Cooper and making its way down to Nate. She takes off the necklace and puts it carefully in her pocket; no one had questioned her about it, because Laura had been right -- the gem was unassuming enough that it was able to pass as a piece of ornamental jewelry. But Natasha feels uneasy about wearing it knowing that there’s going to be possible confrontation, and that confrontation will most likely include Clint, and screw her for being worried about having her heart on display when she had to potentially face off against her partner, her husband, and her best friend.

Natasha’s phone vibrates in her pocket, and she takes it out, glancing at the message.

 

 

She pockets the phone and strides out of the room just in time to fall in step with Rhodey, who looks surprised at her arrival.

“Is this some sort of weird spy thing?”

Natasha smiles, thinking of T’Challa’s two-way office door. “You know it.”

Rhodey snorts. “Tony’s back,” he says as they continue to walk down the halls, and Natasha works to shove all of her layers back onto her body until she feels heavy and whole again. She’s not sure what she expects to see when she walks back into the large conference room, but Stark sitting alone isn’t exactly it.

“What happened to your reinforcement?” she asks curiously. Tony waves a hand around dismissively.

“He’s getting himself changed. I had to make a few modifications to his suit, but luckily, I’m good at being a genius. Any update on our fugitive friends?”

Natasha nods. “They’re at Leipzig Airport. We probably need to move fast if we want to head them off before they try to get out of the country.”

“And Ross’ clock is already ticking,” Rhodey adds with a small sigh. “I can’t imagine things are going to be easy.”

“They’re never easy,” Tony says, giving them both looks. “You got your suits ready?”

“Yes,” Natasha says instantly as Rhodey nods in tandem. Tony nods back.

“Then suit up.”


	8. Chapter 8

In Natasha’s eyes, the fight at the airport goes from bad to worse.

 _I don’t want to fight you_ , she thinks desperately as Clint charges at her. She tries to imagine an outcome where anything might go differently, where Cap might stop hitting Stark and where T’Challa might stop throwing punches at Barnes, however much he felt he deserved them. The thought becomes a desperate need to make sure that at least _one_ person in her life hadn't been completely forced to hate her, and as he throws her to the ground, blocking her batons with his bo staff, she throws out the only thing she can think of in the moment, despite the fact that it breaks all barriers of subtleness.

"We're still friends right?"

Clint grins out of the corner of his mouth, a glint reflecting in his eye, and for a split second, she can maybe believe they're back on the lawn of the farm, sparring harmlessly while Laura watches from the porch. 

"Depends on how hard you hit me."

 _There_. It was brief, but it was enough, and it was still Clint, snarky and honest and giving her what he could offer in the moment: _this isn't about us, we're okay, I'm still on your side_. She uses her legs to neatly scissor her way out of his grip, allowing herself the room to get up. As she attempts to throw an easily deflectable roundhouse kick in his direction, she's caught off guard by a vine of red energy that wraps itself around her ankle. Natasha flies through the air and lands hard on her back, struggling to breathe as the fight continues in her ears.

 _Pulling your punches. You were pulling your punches._  Well, at least she didn't have to worry about Wanda protecting Clint when she wasn't around.

Natasha hauls herself up into a sitting position and crawls behind one of the larger pieces of debris that’s been thrown in her direction. She tries not to pay attention to what’s going on around her and instead attempts to refocus her mind on what everyone else is missing because they’re too busy with each other.

_Focus._

Cap and Barnes. Get out of the fight. She had taken a moment to reassess, scanning the area, catching them on their way to the hanger. The chopper was out -- destroyed, almost -- but she could see a quinjet hiding in the shadows, and she had managed to get herself into the hanger undetected through a back entrance, thanks to the fight being centered around the tarmac.

“I said I'd help you find them, not catch them. There's a difference." Natasha stands in the hanger, looking at T’Challa; she can’t see him behind his mask, and she knows that her lasers have done nothing to his suit. But she doesn’t care. She’s made her choice, however much it might cost her.

"I thought you said you did not want to fight.”

Natasha's lips rise briefly. “I don’t.”

T’Challa remains still, and the roar of the quinjet fades in Natasha’s ears, mingling with the rest of the fight still going. She stares back at him and thinks of Laura and the farm, and of Clint, and of choices and home.

“You may wear the Black Widow mantle with a different perspective than your sisters. But you walk a slippery slope in this game, Miss Romanova.”

Natasha holds her stance and finds herself thinking that Okoye might be proud of the Black Widow, for not bending in the face of confrontation. When T’Challa finally turns and walks away, she lets out a long, shaking breath, and it’s not until she’s found her way back out onto the tarmac that she realizes Clint and Wanda are gone. It’s not just them, she notes as she takes in the surroundings. The Ant-Man is also missing, as is Sam. Natasha turns slowly, both confused and unnerved, and her uniform suddenly feels heavy on her skin.

“Natasha.”

She hears Vision’s smooth voice before she sees him, Tony’s former AI floating down in front of her, landing softly on his toes. “I assume you want to know that Mr. Stark has airlifted Colonel Rhodes to the nearby University Hospital for medical attention.”

“Rhodey --” Natasha feels confused, wondering what she’d missed while helping Steve and Barnes escape. “Vision, what happened?”

Vision hesitates the same way Natasha knows Lila might hesitate if she was trying to explain something that her brain didn’t fully have a grasp on. “An accident, Miss Romanoff.”

Natasha dazedly lets Vision lead her across the tarmac. “Where is everyone else?” _Where is Clint?_ she wants to ask but she can’t let herself be that transparent, and she _is_ worried about Wanda.

“I am afraid it is more complicated than that.”

Natasha’s gut clenches in anxiety. “Vision --”

“I believe you’ll want to talk to Secretary Ross, if you have questions about where your friends were taken,” Vision says as they continue to walk. “I am not at liberty to give you information that I do not have.”

Natasha bites down on a scream as Vision shoots into the sky, leaving her alone. There’s catastrophe everywhere, overturned trucks and smoke still rising from fiery blasts gone wrong; Natasha continues to walk slowly until her foot crunches against something hard and slippery. She looks down in both surprise and shock, realizing it’s one of Clint’s grappling hook arrows, half-bent at the stem. She picks it up, twirling it between her fingers and then pockets the object with a sinking feeling in her stomach. The atmosphere surrounding the airport is eerily quiet, and when Natasha walks out and onto the busy street, it feels like a different world. The flow of traffic is unending, tourists and citygoers weaving in and out of the sidewalks with ease. She hails the first cab she can find, not bothering to throw a glare back at the driver who looks at her uniform curiously, and by the time she gets back to the facility, she feels like she could sleep for a million years.

Natasha walks quickly through the halls until she gets to the small, dorm-like room where she’s stored most of her stuff. There’s a tiny bathroom attached, a shower and a sink with just enough room to move, and she gauges the timing, figuring she can spare a quick rinse; more than that she knows she needs the time to herself. The whole fight hadn’t even taken all that long, Natasha realizes as she turns on the water, throwing her hair in a bun and half-wishing for the days of short locks. She remembers Laura’s threat about not cutting her hair until she gets home, and her eyes burn as water runs down her face, smearing what's left of her makeup.

 _The new suit looks good_ , is what she would have told him if he wasn’t trying to punch her the same way she once tried to punch him in the belly of a helicarrier, because she never imagined she would see him wearing it while she was trying to attack him. She thinks back to the nights spent with Laura after the kids had gone to bed, after Clint had passed out due to too much housework, moonlight pouring into the house as they sewed together with their heads bent like little girls; Natasha holding Nate in her arms while Laura kissed her softly every so often and explained how to tie a stitch or joked about Clint being naked in the field. Something in her chest surges, and all of a sudden, she wants nothing more than to find Clint. She wants to walk through the door of the farm and have Lila and Cooper hang off her body in the way she sometimes grumbles about but secretly loves, she wants Nate to snuggle into her arms and drool on her neck, she wants to make lunches and snacks, she wants Laura to kiss her gently and lead her to the living room where she’ll get a massage and coffee and probably the good pills, because after all these years, Laura’s become smart about keeping stronger medication in the house.

Natasha stays in the shower and manages to scrub herself mostly clean, trying not to think of Laura, or Clint, or even Wanda. Her mind wanders to Peter Parker -- Peter, the kid that Tony had used as a weapon, the kid who looked and sounded no older than Cooper. _And Tony put him into battle_ , she thinks angrily, trying to force down the nausea that bubbles up inside of her at the thought of her own child in the field. It doesn’t exactly work, and she finds herself retching into the spray, spitting up bile and water while her chest heaves with concrete sobs. She braces her hands against the wall as her head spins, letting the spray cascade down her back and neck, breathing heavily until she regains control of herself.

_Breathe, Natasha. Breathe. You’re okay._

After another five minutes of making sure she’s not going to unload any more of the morning’s coffee or breakfast, she climbs out of the shower, realizing from the way her joints are moving that she’s more sore than she’d admit to. She towels off and notices the family cell phone is lighting up inside her bag; she takes it out curiously, finding multiple messages that are spanning the screen. Natasha is relieved to see most of them are check-ins from the kids -- Cooper’s updates on school, Lila’s excited sharing of the new cartoon she'd just watched. She breathes a sigh of relief at having no messages from Laura and decides to take it as a good sign; if something had happened that she was unaware of, it would have most likely made the news the same way she knows the Accords bombing did. Natasha tucks the phone back into her bag and re-dresses, locking up her belongings before leaving the room. She’s halfway down the hall when she notices Peter sitting awkwardly on one of the wide benches, his gangly frame bent at an angle that looks uncomfortable, as if he’s trying to take all the weight off his leg and the right side of his body. Without his uniform, he looks ordinary and tiny, like Cooper nursing an injury after soccer practice or Lila sitting on the couch after stubbing her toe. Natasha tries to keep her anger down, because she knows this isn’t the place for it. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that he was probably swayed by promises of glory and fighting the same way Natasha once longed to work for her country -- the same way she knew Cooper saw his two parents, not as dangerous assassins who put their life on the line every time they left the house, but as superheroes and indestructible legends.

“Careful,” Natasha says as she approaches, watching him stretch his arm with a grimace. “You took a lot of hits back there. You’re going to be sore for awhile.”

“Oh, hey!” Peter looks up quickly, dropping his arm nonchalantly. “Hey, uh, hi. It’s cool, it’s fine. Just waiting for my ride so I can get home. Mr. Stark promised me a private jet.”

“Uh huh.” Natasha swallows down the words that she normally would use if she was talking to a child and Peter looks up eagerly, a black eye coloring a healthy portion of his small freckled face.

“You’re -- you’re an Avenger, right? You’re the Black Widow? The spider girl?”

Natasha smiles. “Yeah,” she says slowly, because her only introduction to Peter had been right before they headed to the airport, and she had barely had time to process his presence before she was thrown into battle. “I am.”

“I saw you fight in the Battle of New York!” Peter’s grin widens, and Natasha suddenly sees Lila in his features. “You did all that cool stuff with your guns, and you, like, flew on an alien. That was, like, really cool! I mean, I dunno if Mr. Stark told you, but I’ve swung off buildings and stuff...but aliens, man, that’s a whole different thing. Can you imagine if I did that? The kids at school would be so jealous.”

Natasha smiles again, remembering her conversation with Cooper when he had first learned what his parents did. “It is cool, but it’s also a job. And it’s not fun when you’re getting hurt,” she adds pointedly. Peter winces in embarrassment, a look Natasha can read like the back of her hand.

“Mr. Stark promised me that Aunt May wouldn’t know,” he mumbles. “She gets worried about me. I mean, I don’t really want to lie to her about what I do, cause I don’t like doing that, but I just try to protect her, you know?”

 _I know_ , Natasha thinks. “Do me a favor.” She eyes him carefully. “Learn from this experience, and don’t just assume it was a cool fight. Think about what you did right and what you did wrong, and most importantly, think about how you can improve so that you don’t have to worry anyone when you do this again. If you do this again.”

“I can take care of myself,” Peter declares, all the bravado of Cooper and a little bit of Clint caught up in his defensiveness. Natasha sighs.

“I know you can. But you don’t need to be in the big leagues right now. And if you’re constantly putting people that you love in danger, it’ll take a toll on you by the time you really _are_ ready to go out and fight like this. You can help the world, but you don’t _need_ to save it. Not right now. That's why we're here. So just...try to be a kid for a little bit, okay?” She gauges his face, thinking of Cooper. “You’re in high school, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, crinkling his nose. “Ninth grade.”

“Ninth grade is when you should be hanging out with your friends and joining clubs,” Natasha says and Peter groans, arching his neck back.

“I don’t wanna join clubs and be a kid. I wanna to be a superhero! I wanna to help people! Like Mr. Stark, and you!”

Natasha shakes her head. “You have all the time in the world to be a hero, Peter. I promise.” She pauses, watching his face shift into a scowl. “But you did a good job out there. Your Aunt May would be proud, if she knew.”

“Really?" Peter looks suddenly enthused. "The Black Widow thinks I did a good job?”

Natasha smiles against the pain in her gut. “Really.” She pats his shoulder gently and then leaves Peter to himself, continuing to walk down the halls, until she reaches what she knows is the office that Secretary Ross has appropriated for himself. She knocks once and waits before she gets approval to be called inside, immediately noticing that unlike T’Challa’s supposed cell, which looked more like a living room and was adorned with a leather couch and coffee tables, Ross’s office is mostly bare and far from inviting.

“May I help you, Miss Romanoff?”

“Secretary Ross.” She pauses, taking him in, because in a way, he reminds Natasha of Laura’s father. Despite all her years around Bob Foster and never being too put off by him, she suddenly gets why Clint had been initially intimidated by the patriarch, who was probably demanding without meaning to be. Ross, however, seems to _know_ he’s intimidating, given the way he’s looking at Natasha.

“I want to know where the rest of the team has been taken. I’ve been unable to find any information, and I’ve been told I should talk to you.”

“Yes, well.” Ross looks grim. “If I recall correctly, I asked for Wilson, Barnes and Rogers to be delivered to me in thirty-six hours. And you failed to complete that mission.”

“And so you’ve punished other people?” Natasha asks icily. Ross sets his mouth in a straight line.

“Perhaps you have become too used to Nick Fury’s forgiveness, Miss Romanoff, but they broke the law. There are consequences for that, now.”

Natasha grits her teeth against the mention of Fury’s name and the anger that bubbles up inside of her, the frustration that makes her want to blurt out he has no damn right to compare his selfish tactics or oversight to the parental guidance Fury had always provided them with. “I’d like to see them, please.”

“Ah.” Ross smiles. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Natasha clenches her hands, making hard fists at her side. “And why not?”

Ross raises an eyebrow. “Because, Miss Romanoff. They have been taken into custody.”

“Custody? By who?” Natasha asks furiously, forgetting about all her sense of decorum.

“The government, on our orders.” Ross answers, and Natasha takes a deep breath.

“And when will they be released?”

Ross’s eyebrows knit together in annoyance. “They are currently considered criminals, Miss Romanoff. We need to figure out how to handle that.”

“They didn’t help Barnes escape,” Natasha points out. “Cap did that on his own.”

“Unfortunately, you are wrong,” Ross replies with a small sigh. “They resisted arrest, and they assisted in a fugitive escape. Additionally, these...Avengers.” He stops to look down, tapping his pointer finger against a paper on his desk. “Barton. Maximoff. Wilson. Lang. None of them signed our Accords, which also means they are subject to our jurisdiction. We needed to deal with that accordingly.”

“And _how_ did you deal with that?” Natasha asks. Ross smiles tightly.

“We’ve moved them to an undisclosed facility. I’m afraid I'm not at liberty to let you know where.”

“Then who is?”

Ross regards her carefully. “We’ll keep you updated, Miss Romanoff. But perhaps you should take this time to think about your own loyalties.”

“My _own_ loyalties are perfectly thought out,” Natasha snaps, bristling slightly.

“Indeed. I believe you helped them escape, if King T’Challa’s account to me was correct.”

“And in case you forgot, I signed in favor of The Accords, as an Avenger. Does that mean that I also deserve to be taken away?”

Ross doesn’t answer, instead holding her gaze until Natasha thinks she might scream.

“Like I said, Miss Romanoff. We’ll keep you updated.”

Natasha knows a dismissal when she hears one, and despite the fact that she wants to yell unprofessionally in Ross’s face, she keeps herself calm as she backs out of the room. There would be a time for that, the same way there would be a time to yell at everything that did and didn’t move, including probably the truck Clint liked to drive at the farm. She veers through the halls of the facility and once she gets outside, she hails the first cab she can find.

"University Hospital. Leipzig," Natasha says after she gets in, and closing her eyes against the dizzying swerves through traffic. When she arrives at reception, she's directed to a waiting room near where Rhodey is undergoing tests. She stops herself at the doorway upon seeing Tony, who turns to her with a bruised face and eyes that are both hurting and angry. Natasha finds she doesn't know what to say; she hadn't even seen what had happened but she instinctively knows he's aware of what she's done and is ready to blame her.

"I came to see how he was doing," she says quietly, stepping into the room. Tony stares at her for a long time and then waves his hand. Natasha follows him slowly down the hall, until they reach a door that opens onto a large patio with low glass walls. Tony immediately walks to the barrier overlooking lush green, and Natasha finds her place beside him, staring out at the same open field that reminds her of the farm. She closes her eyes, trying to imagine Cooper's tree and Clint's truck and Laura's garden and Lila's swing. 

"Is it bad?"

Tony doesn't move his gaze from the window. "The doctors say he shattered L4 through S1, extreme laceration to the spinal cord, probably looking at some form of paralysis." His voice shakes just enough for Natasha to know that despite his anger, he's barely holding it together, and she doesn't blame him. _L4 through S1 -- hamstring, flexion of the leg at the knee, right above the leg muscles and under the sacral nerve, all the way down to the toes._ She knows enough about injuries from being in the field and from Clint constantly getting hurt to be acquainted with medical speak, and she wants to reach out, to tell him that she knows what it feels like to see someone you love like this. But then Tony pins her with a gaze that's entirely accusatory, and Natasha finds her voice dying in her throat for the second time.

"Steve's not going to stop," she says, finally tearing her eyes away from the landscape that reminds her so much of home. "If you don't either, Rhodey's going to be the best case scenario."

"You let them go Nat."

Natasha's stomach rolls. "We played this wrong," she argues, trying to keep her voice from shaking, because she feels like she's been a fool. She should've known better; from the moment Ross had handed over the Accords, everything was already on its way to crumbling. And for some reason, she had been so sure of the fact that she could save her family that she actually believed it enough to go against the law. To trust Clint, to leave him to his own devices, knowing how dangerous it was to be on the other side.

"We." Tony lets out a quiet laugh, throwing her a look. "Boy, it must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing. Sticks in the DNA."

Natasha twists her head, feeling angry tears spring to her eyes, knowing she's unable to keep the pain off her face. Sue her for thinking that after all these years, Tony actually considered her enough of a friend to _trust_ her. Sue her for thinking that she had grown enough to make decisions that didn't involve her emotions getting in the way. Maybe all of Laura's love and Clint's trust in her really had been for nothing.

"Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second?"

Tony looks visibly taken aback, as if he hadn't expected Natasha to react so strongly. Natasha waits for him to return the sentiment, however true, with something equally hurtful, but he just turns his gaze back towards the sky.

"T'Challa told Ross what you did, so..."

 _So what? You think I already don't know that?_ Natasha thinks angrily as Tony glares at her. 

"They're coming for you," he finishes. There's a triumph in his eyes, one Natasha recognizes as a kind of victory, a revenge so desperately needed. It makes her feel irrationally angry and for once, she thinks she understands Clint's violent streak when it came to not having control over a situation.

"I'm not the one that needs to watch their back," Natasha manages before she turns around, walking back inside. She makes it into the hallway before the tears start leaking from her eyes and beelines to the nearest women's bathroom. She locks herself in the first stall she sees and gasps quietly, letting the water drip freely down her face in a way that feels almost cathartic.

 _Fuck you_ , she thinks as her vision swims. _Fuck you for thinking you're the only one affected because your friend was the consequence of stupid, petty disagreements gone wrong. I have a family I left behind. I have children that I love, a wife and a husband, I have more at stake in my life than you would ever think. And you have the nerve to assume I was thinking of myself the whole time?_ She bangs a fist against the metal door, slumping back on the toilet seat and bowing her head. Maybe T'Challa had been right. Maybe she couldn't tell the difference between right and wrong when it came down to it. Maybe she _had_ made all the wrong choices, maybe Clint wasn't here because he was in danger, and Natasha was somehow responsible for that. And if Clint was in danger, it meant Wanda was, too. And if Laura knew what had happened at the airport and how Natasha hadn't even watched out for him...

 _Laura_. Natasha immediately knows she needs to go back to the farm, and it's what propels her to exit the stall. She washes her face in the sink and as she wipes a paper towel over the remains of her makeup, she catches her reflection in the mirror, noticing the bruises on her hairline and the tiredness manifesting in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and makes sure she looks as composed as possible before she leaves.

“Romanoff.”

 _Fuck you._ She hears Tony behind her but doesn’t bother to stop walking, continuing towards the elevator she can see at the end of the hall.

“Hey. Natasha.” The footsteps advance, hurrying along the floor, and she knows if his arm wasn’t in a sling he would also be trying to reach out. “Look, I know I was pissed off before, but I need to talk to you.”

“And I need to talk to _you_ ,” Natasha snaps, her anger bubbling over, because now that the iceberg has been chipped, there's no stopping the avalanche. “You didn’t tell me your _reinforcement_ was a high school kid!”

“ _That’s_ what you’re upset about?” asks Tony, both eyebrows shooting up. “Come on, Natasha. It’s the real world. War happens, okay? I was building robots at thirteen.”

“You were building robots, not going into battle!” Natasha explodes. “He’s a _kid_ , Tony! He was almost killed! You took a child who wasn’t ready for war, and you probably fed him some glorified speech about being cool, and then you threw him against some of the most advanced superheroes. You expected him to come out on the other side with no damage whatsoever.”

“Boy, it must be hard for you to forget that you were once a kid like that, fighting the big war. Since when do you care so much about the ethics of a child's safety? Is that a Barton thing?”

Natasha thinks that if she were still conditioned to react with violence, if she hadn't spent so many years curbing her edges and softening herself around Clint and Laura and Cooper and Lila, this would be the moment where she fought dirty, hurting him physically the same way she had been hurt emotionally.

“I’m not the one who fought for years with no family to go home to,” she says, finding his eyes. Tony’s jaw shifts, the lines around his face tensing.

“Yeah, well. If he wasn’t a kid under my wing, he’d be in the same situation as Barton and the others.”

Natasha startles at that. “What do you mean?”

“What I came to talk to you about.” Tony suddenly looks tired and run-down, the same way he had looked before Ross gave his ultimatum. “I found out where Barton and the others are. Ross told me.”

“Ross told you?” Natasha asks against a flare of annoyance. “I went to talk to him and he gave me nothing except superior bullshit.”

“You’re surprised? Anyway, I’m assuming he told me because I’ve been on his side since these Accords were proposed.” Tony shrugs off what Natasha knows is a glare. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You were always wavering.”

“That’s not the point. Where are they?”

“Yeah.” Tony looks grim. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Tony.” She doesn’t bother to keep the worry and the anger out of her voice. “For once in your life, shut up and talk to me. Where the _hell_ is Clint?”

Tony looks defeated, closing his eyes, avoiding Natasha’s gaze.

“A place called the Raft. It's a maximum security jail. Natasha...Clint’s in prison.”

 

***

 

Clint doesn’t realize he’s apparently been knocked unconscious until he opens his eyes and learns that he’s not in the bright sunlight on an airport tarmac, but rather in what feels like the same creaking, jolting van he had driven Wanda and Scott to the airport in.

“Fuck,” he mutters against an aching jaw, trying to work his brain into the last thing he remembers. His entire body hurts, his muscles screaming with every movement, and he assesses his injuries to the best of his ability. Minor concussion, judging from the pain in his head and the burn in his throat and the aftertaste of vomit. Sprained ankle, maybe, bruised rib -- definitely bruised, he realizes as he takes a breath that makes him wince and cough. Sprained wrist, most likely, from tossing Natasha around during their fight -- Natasha. _Natasha_. His partner, throwing punches and kicks; how the hell had he gone from protecting Wanda, to fighting his partner the same way he had once tried to kill her when he was under Loki’s control?

 _Wanda._ He struggles to sit up as the thought hits him, worry flooding his brain, and is immediately met with a pounding head and a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, man, take it easy. You put up a hell of a fight back there.”

He’s closed his eyes again but he recognizes the voice as belonging to Scott, and it’s enough to force him to focus. “What happened?” he grunts as he tries to sit up again. This time, it’s a little easier, despite the fact that he’s still sore all over.

“You, uh.” Scott’s staring at him with a grimace. “We all got taken in after Captain America left with his psycho assassin friend. They took the Scarlet Witch away separately.”

“Her name is Wanda,” Clint manages defensively, and Scott nods.

“Yeah, Wanda. Anyway. I dunno if you remember, but you kinda went balls crazy.” He gestures to his face and now that it’s all coming back to him, Clint realizes he does remember, at least somewhat. He remembers being carted back to some facility by an imposing man in a thick black suit, he remembers being led inside a large garage area and having Wanda wrestled away from his protective hold by uniformed officers. He remembers seeing thick cuffs slapped onto her wrists, the way she was pushed and shoved roughly, and he remembers how his dad instincts had kicked in, as well as his hands. There’s a vision he can vaguely piece together, a memory of surging forward, away from the formal line-up they were being paraded in with, pummeling the nose and then the face of the officer who was trying to cuff Wanda, while beating up the other man with tremendous vigor. He’d gotten a boot to the face for his troubles, and he supposes that plus whatever other harm they decided to inflict on him to make sure he wasn’t going to cause any _more_ trouble is what accounts for the pain and headache, not to mention the lost minutes or hours.

 _Laura’s gonna kill me_ , he thinks, fingering what he can feel is the heavy bruise underneath his eye, wondering if Natasha had managed to escape the fight with less injuries. Probably, because Natasha was Natasha, because she was on the _right_ side of the law for once, even if she didn’t believe it. He swallows down more nausea and tries to acclimate himself; Scott is next to him and Sam is nearby as well, though he’s keeping to himself, head down, avoiding the conversation with a demeanor Clint can tell means he’s not in any mood to socialize.

“Where are we?”

Scott shakes his head. “I dunno. Honestly, I got no idea. They brought us back to that facility and put us on a plane thing, and we’ve been flying for what feels like forever. I thought these things were supposed to be, like, super speed. I mean, it’s exciting, but come on.”

“Quinjets,” Clint mutters. He groans again, flexing his fingers, trying to move his shoulders which are currently bound thanks to his own cuffs.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what they’re called? Oh, here. Lemme give you a hand with those.” Scott leans over and deftly starts jimmying the lock of the cuffs with a small needle, allowing the handcuffs to fall open. “Old school tricks,” he says with a wink, motioning to his own cuffs which are lying next to him. “Just put ‘em back on before they come get us so we don’t get in even more trouble.”

“Thanks,” Clint says hoarsely, suddenly realizing this is the first time he’s really said more than four words to his new teammate, the one whom he had picked up without question and gotten thrown into battle with. He massages his wrists, trying to work feeling back into them. “Why’d you do it?”

“Huh?” Scott looks confused and Clint nods towards him.

“I know your deal,” he continues in a low voice. “You’ve got a wife, a kid. I do, too.” He stops, allowing the words to sink in. “So why’d you come?”

“Are you kidding me?” Scott asks with a measure of incredulity that indicates he’s surprised he’s even being asked the question. “I mean, Captain America! And you’re Hawkeye, and she was Scarlet Witch...and, like, you guys are great, but I mean, Captain America!”

“Yeah,” Clint says impatiently. “Come on, Lang. You have a better answer than that. We’re not here to impress each other anymore.”

Scott purses his lips and looks a little wistful, nodding. “My daughter -- my daughter Cassie -- she’s nine. She’s everything to me. She’s my life, man. She thinks of me as a hero. I mean, I think she always did, even though I did things that were bad. But then after all that stuff happened with the ants...I saved her when she was in trouble.” He smiles, a smile Clint recognizes as being proud and happy at the same time. “Her dad used to be an ordinary guy who had nothing to offer except ice cream and hugs and stuffed animals. And suddenly he’s a superhero, you know? And what’s more heroic than joining up with Captain America? Besides.” He pauses, staring at the wall. “It’s a good reason to get locked up. A lot better than hacking into security systems, at least.”

Clint leans his back against the wall of the quinjet. “Did you tell her? Your wife or your kid? Before you left?”

Scott looks a little grim, and shakes his head. “Thought about making a call after you guys more or less hijacked me out of that apartment, but I didn’t wanna worry them or get them upset. Things are just kind of starting to even out with Maggie and I, you know? We used to be divorced -- well, there’s no _used to_ , we’re still divorced -- but for awhile, we were so estranged, I couldn’t even get five minutes with Cassie without feeling shitty. I’m finally getting to a place that I feel good about, with Maggie and that other guy of hers, and, well...the last thing they need to know is that I’m getting back on the street like this. Even with the superhero thing.” He eyes Clint. “You came with Wanda, right? But you said you had a kid, too.”

“Three,” Clint says slowly as Scott’s eyes widen in surprise. “I owed her a debt. Have a habit of that, I guess. Owing people. Saving people. I told my oldest before I left that sometimes, being a superhero means you have to make sacrifices. I think I kind of knew what I was getting myself into, but…” He barks out a laugh, looking around the quinjet. “Maybe not.”

“Do you regret it?” Scott asks. “Coming here? Leaving them?”

“No,” Clint says instantly. “I’m an Avenger. My family understood the risks. They always have. And Wanda’s my family, too. Not by blood, but she’s still my family. That means something to me.”

Scott lets out a breath, drumming his fingers unsteadily against his legs. “Well. Good on you, man. Cause I dunno where we’re going, but I don’t think it’s someplace good.”

“Considering we’re being flown somewhere secretly while we’re locked up? Probably not,” Clint acknowledges dryly. “That’s what happens when the government gets involved. It all goes to shit.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been here before. Well, not _here_ , not like, being carted off with superheroes…” He trails off. “I’d think about them, you know. When I was locked up. Maggie and Cassie. It was pretty much the only thing that kept me going in there. And I’d think, you know, what happens if something goes wrong and I never get to hug my little girl again? I’d even miss my ex-wife, I think.” He pauses to laugh at himself, as if he’s amused at his one-sided conversation. “Do you ever think about that? Like, what if you never get to see them again? Your family?”

“I don’t think about that,” Clint snaps with more curtness than he means to as the quinjet shudders then drops sharply, banging into what Clint can tell from his own piloting skills is a rocky landing. The vibration of the engine whirs and ceases beneath his feet and Sam finally looks up, brows furrowed as the landing pad opens to reveal a bored-looking officer dressed in a hard hat and camouflaged threads indicative of the military.

“Lang. Wilson.” He pauses, staring each of them in turn. “Barton.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Clint asks sarcastically, figuring he’s already earned the right to run his mouth while simultaneously creating enough of a diversion so that him and Scott can put their cuffs back on without being noticed. The officer in charge doesn’t look particularly interested in starting a verbal argument, however.

“This way.” He motions for them to follow him off the quinjet and Clint does, because he knows he has to. The only positive, at least, is that they're all uncuffed the moment they walk into what looks like a large holding cell.

“Please step into these rooms and deposit your gear,” the officer says in the same bored tone, and Clint snorts out a laugh.

“Yeah, you gotta be kidding me. You think I’m just gonna hand my bow over to you? Do you even _know_ what the make of this is? I bet you don’t. It’s a specialized recurve, it even doubles as a staff.”

“Man, just do it,” Sam says in a tone that’s dejected and resigned. Clint blows out a frustrated breath, dumping his arrows and his quiver on the floor, as well as a few knives.

“Fine. You asshats happy now?”

“Agent Barton.” The officer’s voice is firm. “ _All_ of your gear, please.”

 _You’ve gotta be kidding me_ , he thinks again as he watches Scott take a pile of what looks like blue hospital scrubs from another officer’s hand. The last thing he wants to do is give up his suit, because it feels like he’s giving up a part of the last remaining link he has to Laura, and to Natasha.

“ _Now_ ,” the officer intones more strongly, shoving him towards a freestanding stall. Clint sighs and strips carefully, making sure to fold the suit as neatly as possible. _Whatever was next, we wanted it to be a fresh start for you_ , Laura had told him. He suppresses a bitter laugh, because he’s pretty sure when she said that, she didn’t mean this.

“Careful with that suit,” he says as he hands it over. “It’s expensive. Handmade, too. Betcha didn’t know that, either.” The officer rolls his eyes and puts it in what Clint notices is a large metal box filled with his weapons, Sam’s wings and Scott’s suit, which he latches shut with a series of coded numbers. “So, what’s the next stop on our welcome tour?”

His response is another sharp shove in the direction of a room that, Clint realizes when they walk inside, holds a circular block of cells.

“Lemme guess, we each get our own room?”

Scott, to his credit, looks a little impressed that Clint is being so brash. Clint wants to ask him what _his_ previous incarcerations were like, because from his military officers to SHIELD, he’d never had a problem talking back to anyone if he felt like he was being treated unfairly. The officer points to the cell diagonal from the door and Clint sighs, walking over and stepping inside. As soon as he does so, a heavy glass door zooms closed with a precision and lock that makes Clint feel downright trapped, and a large set of metal bars drop from above, securely containing him. He looks around -- he can barely see Scott, and Sam is just out of his peripheral vision -- and it’s only then that he realizes it’s just the three of them in the room.

“Where’s Wanda?” Clint asks loudly, pounding his fist on the window of his cell, what he realizes is more hardened plastic akin to the feel of vibranium than glass. “ _Hey_! _Hey_ , tell me where Wanda Maximoff is, goddammit! Tell me or I'll break down this door myself!”

He doesn’t know if he can even be heard -- for all he knows, the cell might be entirely soundproofed -- but he continues to yell and bang, and the only response is another loud slam, as the heavy metal door is heaved closed in his face. Scott slumps forward onto the glass, and Sam dejectedly retreats back into his cell until Clint can’t see him anymore.

 _Fuck this_ , Clint thinks angrily, fighting the urge to put his fist through the floor. He starts pacing his cell, clenching his fingers, swinging his fists around at no one in particular and then pummels the small bed over and over again until his arm aches, until his head is spinning from exertion, until he thinks he might throw up again. _Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this._

_Clint?_

He startles, hands falling at his sides, trying to make sure he’s not hearing things. He knows Wanda isn’t in here with them, but maybe he’s going crazy, because he’s definitely hearing her voice.

_Clint?_

He decides to give into his suspicions, as odd as they seem. _Wanda?_

_Clint? Can you hear me?_

_Jesus, Wanda. I didn’t know you were telepathic._

_Only sometimes. I can look into people’s minds, but I can also communicate that way, if I want to. I used to go into Pietro’s mind when he had nightmares. I do not like to talk this way, though. It feels too intrusive._

_Yeah, tell me about it. Where the hell did they take you?_

_Here._ Wanda’s voice sounds sad. _I am here. But I am far away from you, I think. They have locked me up. It is worse than Stark. I am not sure I can even move. I am in some sort of bind._

Clint’s anger surges again. _Fuck, Wanda. I tried --_

_You did try, Clint. You almost killed yourself trying. I do not know if you remember._

_Yeah, well. I’ll live_ , he thinks as the bruise on his face throbs. _I’ve had worse._ Before he can continue, Wanda’s voice fills his brain again, sad and hopeless.

_It is my fault. You would not be here, away from your family, if it wasn’t for me._

_It’s not your fault_ , Clint thinks back, trying not to feel frustrated. _It’s mine. This is all my fault. Because of me, you’re worse off than you were when Stark put you under house arrest. I never wanted that. I just wanted you to stop being scared of yourself and of the world, and I put you right back where you started._

Wanda doesn’t respond, and Clint feels tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. The prison uniform is itchy and rough against his sore skin, and it makes him want to tear it all off. He finds himself feeling even worse when he realizes that, unlike Wanda, at least he  _can_ move around.

_Wanda, just -- please, tell me you’re okay._

_Scared_ , Wanda says after a long pause, and Clint can hear the tremor in her voice. _I am scared, Clint. I am alone. It is like the place they kept me and Pietro while we were being experimented on. It is a place of nightmares. I do not want to die in here._

 _You’re not alone, and you’re not going to die in here,_ Clint promises fiercely. _I swear. I keep my promises, you know that._ He racks his brain, trying to think of how he would make any of his kids feel better when he was away on a mission and had to soothe them over the phone or across a video screen, without physical contact. _Do you want me to tell you a story?_

_I am not a child._

_No, you’re not. But I tell Natasha and Laura stories all the time. We all have nightmares, Wanda, for different reasons. We all need people to take care of us at some point. That means allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Laura and Natasha take care of me and let me be vulnerable. I let my kids be vulnerable. You’re allowed to be vulnerable, too._

_Okay,_ Wanda thinks softly after a moment. _Then, yes. I would like a story, Clint. If you do not mind._

 _How could I mind?_ Clint mulls over what to choose, thankful for the fact that years of reading to his children and his own literary habits have instilled dozens of stories inside his brain. _Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much._

 _You are telling the story of Harry Potter,_ Wanda thinks, and her voice sounds small. _I remember reading that book with Lila._

 _Yeah,_ Clint says. _It’s become her favorite. I think she’s even gonna try to go as Hermione for Halloween, just so she can make her hair really huge and wave a wand around. Better than going as another Frozen princess for a third year in a row, honestly. I was getting so sick of that costume, even though Laura loves it. Anyway, you wanna hear the rest?_

 _Yes,_ Wanda allows in the same small voice. _I do._ _Please keep talking._

 _Okay. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense._ Clint keeps going, refusing to stop, until the heavy door opens again and Tony Stark steps into his view, shattering his connection and his calm.

 

***

 

After about a week of Clint and Natasha being away, Laura thinks she’s finally remembering how to breathe again.

There have been no more phone calls, but as far as Laura’s concerned, no news is good news, and that’s what she tells herself as she goes through the rituals of her otherwise normal life. Every so often, in the free pockets of time she has when she gets a moment alone, she finds herself looking at Natasha’s ring, staring at her wedding band. She’s given up on hoping that either of her partners will walk back in the door on a whim, but it’s a thought in her mind every time she goes to sleep and opens her eyes the next morning.

“You miss him,” Hannah says when she comes over to help Laura clean, and Laura smiles sadly.

“I miss _them_ ,” she corrects softly, because while the number of people who knew about their relationship could be counted on the fingers of one hand, she does consider it nice that she doesn’t have to lie about her feelings to her closest friend -- at least, not anymore.

“Be honest. You miss the sex,” Hannah says as she picks up a pillow and Laura finds herself blushing.

“Hannah!”

“What? I bet it’s true.”

Things begin to shift easily back into a life that’s mostly mundane, though for Laura, it’s the first time she’s juggling being a single parent with three kids who require feeding, homework help, bedtime rituals, and dressing. Despite her mother’s help and Hannah’s offers to pitch in with errands, Laura doesn’t realize how much of a toll the lifestyle is taking until she finds herself crawling into bed more exhausted than usual, and until she finds herself unintentionally passing out on the couch in the afternoon along with her six-month-old.

“Mom! Mom, look what grandma gave me!” Cooper returns home from school brandishing a large book as he runs in the door, slamming it shut before Laura can gather herself to warn him about the still-sleeping baby that’s now being held in two arms.

“Oops.” He winces as loud wails start to sound, Nate twisting and fussing in Laura’s grip. Laura rubs her forehead warily.

“Cooper.”

“Sorry, mom.”

“Coop, you _know_ better.”

“I know, I know...but mom, look!” He shoves the book into Laura’s face, and she manages to catch a glimpse of the cover before Cooper whisks it back under his arm, feeling her emotions soften when she sees the worn, familiar binding.

“Your grandfather’s copy of _Lord of the Rings_.”

“Yeah!” Cooper grins. “Grandma said she had it in her room, and she was saving it until I was old enough to read a big book. And now that dad’s away, she said I could start it so I could talk to him about it when he gets home!”

Laura can’t help but smile, brushing a free hand over her son’s head while she shifts Nate, bouncing him up and down. “Go bring your book upstairs -- Lila, come on. Mommy has to put your brother back to bed. You can help if you want.”

“But mommy!” Lila’s stomping her foot against the ground, and Laura’s saved from her daughter’s impending tantrum by the ringing of the house phone. She walks into the kitchen, trying to continually jostle the crying baby in her arms.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Barton speaking?”

The voice on the other end of the phone is high-pitched and professional, and something about it makes Laura slightly nervous. “Yes,” she answers against her better judgement, because it’s not like she’s never gotten telemarketer calls before. She reaches for the emergency pacifier stash on the table and shoves one into Nathaniel’s mouth, quieting him.

“Mrs. Barton, my name is Christine Everhart, _Vanity Fair_. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about The Avengers and their involvement in the Sokovia Accords.”

Laura’s caught off guard at the question. Lila tugs at her jeans roughly and Laura looks down, nodding absently as her daughter skips away. In her hesitation, Christine continues impatiently.

“Hello? Mrs. Barton, are you there?”

“Yes,” Laura says, finding her voice, trying to sound confident despite the fact her stomach is churning in worry. “I’m sorry. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get this number?”

“This number?” Christine sounds surprised. “It was listed in a directory. I --”

“Thank you,” Laura says, cutting her off. “But we’re not accepting phone calls or giving statements at this time.” She hangs up before Christine can speak again and then walks around in circles with her son in her arms, breathing deeply through her nose to stave off the panic attack she can feel building in her lungs.

 _No one knows where the farm is._ They had enough of a life that they weren’t completely off the grid, but where SHIELD was concerned, they absolutely were. Even after SHIELD had fallen, Clint and Natasha had assured her they were safe, and with the exception of Clint bringing everyone to the farm last year, Laura hasn’t doubted their safety in the entire time she’s lived here.

“Lila,” she calls, finally realizing she needs to attend to her daughter. “Lila, come help mommy.” She waits for the telltale thumping of feet against the floor, because like her father, Lila still hasn’t learned how to quiet her own strides yet. “Lila?” Laura tightens her arm around the baby as she walks upstairs, pushing open the door to her children’s room. “Coop, have you seen Lila?”

“Nope.” Cooper shakes his head without looking up from his book and Laura backs out of the room, quickly checking the rest of the upstairs landing. She puts Nate in his crib and walks back down the stairs, opening the front door and stepping out onto the porch. The breeze is quiet, the birds are quiet, and even Hannah’s dog is quiet. For some reason, Laura finds the silence unnerving, her skin crawling with anticipation and uncertainty.

“Lila? Lila...Lila!”

“Mommy?” Lila’s voice sounds far away but it’s light and curious and, Laura realizes, completely calm. In another second, she’s peddling her pink tricycle into view from up the driveway. Laura strides forward and meets her halfway as Lila gets off her bike, grabbing her daughter in a tight hug.

“Lila baby, what’s our most important house rule?”

“No going outside or leaving the house without asking mommy first,” Lila recites obediently. “But I did tell you! While you were on the phone! I asked if I could ride my bike before dinner, an’ you nodded an’ said yes!”

Laura closes her eyes, suddenly missing Clint and Natasha more than she can express. “I’m sorry. You're right, you did ask, and I wasn’t paying attention. But I need you to be more careful when you’re playing, okay?” She pulls away and strokes her daughter’s hair gently.

“But I always ride my bike in the driveway. Just like Auntie Nat taught me.”

“I know,” Laura says. “But can you please stay a little closer to the house for awhile? Just for now?”

“Okay.” Lila looks at her mother, inclining her head in a manner that’s entirely Natasha looking at someone in concern. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Laura promises, hugging her again. “Nothing’s wrong, baby girl. I just didn’t know where you were, and I don’t like that. It makes me scared. Like the way you get scared of thunder.”

“Don’t worry, mommy.” Lila snuggles into her arms. “I won’t ever leave you.”

Laura rocks her back and forth, fighting back tears. “Come on,” she says, getting up. “I know you want to ride your bike, but I need to put your brother back down for a nap. Do you want to help read to him?”

Lila nods, slipping her hand into Laura’s, and by the time they walk back into the house, Laura feels a little better. She sends Lila into the baby’s room with the caveat of going to the bathroom first, and instead walks into her bedroom, heading to the closet and unearthing the tan bag Clint had mentioned over the phone. The cell phone is in there, as promised, along with a list of numbers, a wallet of IDs, and a rolled up wad of cash. There’s a post-it note on the front screen of the phone, written in Clint’s chicken scrawl.

**L -- TEXT 694756. PW: #955695**

Laura hesitates for a moment and then punches in the number, waiting for permission to add the access code. She’s not sure what she expects -- they’ve had various contingency plans in place ever since Clint went off to SHIELD; even moreso since Natasha had become a part of their family. But they’d never had to actually _use_ them, not even when things had seemed bad enough. If there was ever a case where Laura felt like she was unsafe, Clint or Natasha or even Maria or Fury had been close enough to offer reassurance or help. Laura waits in case there’s a response, and then gathers her wits and goes back to Nathaniel’s room, determined to push through the rest of the day with minimal disruption and worry.

“Is dad coming home soon?” Cooper asks while Laura’s putting him to bed later, after making sure Lila has at least started to brush her teeth. Laura sighs quietly, not knowing how else to answer except with honesty.

“I don’t know.”

“Nat?”

“Coop, I don’t know,” Laura answers, this time a little more frustratedly, and her son glares at her, slumping back in bed.

“Sorry I asked,” he bites back. Laura sighs, sitting down on the bed and putting her hand on his knee.

“I _know_ it’s hard,” she says quietly. “It’s hard for me, too. But I don’t know any more than you do. I just know dad said he would be home as soon as he could, and you know he keeps his promises, right? Nat, too. If I hear anything, I promise I’ll tell you.” She kisses him on the head, before getting up and walking back into the bathroom where Lila is still brushing slowly.

“Let me see,” Laura instructs as Lila removes the toothbrush and grins, all gap teeth and a foamy mouth.

“Do I look like daddy?” Lila asks with a giggle as Laura wipes toothpaste from her mouth and gestures towards the water cup. “Daddy always makes me growl like a monster!”

“Your daddy is going to come home and find himself suddenly removed from bedtime rituals,” Laura responds with an eyebrow raise as Lila rinses her mouth. “Spit.”

“He said he does the same thing with Auntie Nat!” Lila says after she finishes. Laura bites down on a smile.

“I think Auntie Nat makes that noise for a different reason,” Laura mutters under her breath, helping her off the stool in the bathroom and leading her into the bedroom.

“Night, Coop!” Lila blows an exaggerated kiss towards her brother, who looks up over his book to smile briefly. Laura helps her daughter get comfortable under the covers, handing her Brownie.

“You want your book?”

Lila nods and Laura hands her small pink Barbie headphones, which Lila puts on while Laura plugs the cord into the small device with Clint’s recording on it.

“Goodnight, mommy. Goodnight, Coop. Goodnight, Brownie. Goodnight, daddy and Tasha.” Lila speaks the last words to the air while blowing kisses to the ceiling, and Laura smiles, kissing her softly.

“Goodnight, Lila baby.”

She turns off the big light, leaving the bedside lamp on for Cooper so he can finish reading, and quickly checks on Nathaniel. Laura lingers in the hallway for a moment, then goes to push open the door to her bedroom. The moment she puts her hand on the knob, she knows something is wrong; the room isn’t quite dark but a shadow is peeking out from somewhere to her left, and it’s definitely not the bookcase, or the large ornamental figure Natasha had brought home last year from Zimbabwe because Clint insisted they needed more art at the farm.

Laura remembers the phone call from earlier and suddenly feels seized with fear. She quickly assesses the situation; there’s a gun hidden under the bed and another in the closet, but with Clint and his bow gone, there’s no actual weapon outside of the bedroom. Laura thinks for a moment and then backs up slowly, creeping to the closet in the front hall, where she opens the door and grabs one of Cooper’s baseball bats. Fueled by thoughts of protecting her children sleeping just a few steps away from whoever is threatening their home, she walks back to the bedroom and pushes open the door while brandishing the bat above her head, then drops it when she gets a full view.

“Jesus Christ, Nick.” Laura sags against the wall, before closing the door hastily and locking it for good measure. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I’d wager you’re used to Romanoff doing the same thing over the years,” Fury says, turning around. Laura notices he’s holding the photo from their vow renewal and can't help but smile.

“Did Maria Hill tell you?”

Fury snorts. “About you and Barton and Romanoff? No. But it’s not exactly a surprise, Laura.”

Laura looks down at her hands, knowing she’s been aware of Fury’s answer for longer than she’d admit to. “When?”

“When?” Fury sounds amused. “Maybe five or six years ago. Natasha slipped up and left her comm on during a mission, and I overheard Barton asking her if she was doing the grocery list for Saturday’s shopping excursion. It was kind of the nail in the coffin, considering I knew how much she came to the farm. But I didn’t think it was my place to say anything, not when you had so much of your life already out there thanks to Clint. Let me tell you, though, I almost forced her to go back here when I found her moping around after Banner left. Thankfully, she figured out where she needed to be on her own.”

Laura laughs quietly, sitting down on the bed. “Well, at least it didn’t come as a shock.”

“The girl who fought Clint for a home? And the woman who constantly trusted her husband to go off and fight even when they were trying to build a family? Not entirely surprising they would both end up with the man I sought out so many years ago, because I knew he had a heart.” He joins her on the bed, still holding the photo, and even though Laura’s always seen Nick Fury as an authoritative figure, she can’t help but think about how much he looks like an old man, weary and simple. “She may not ever forgive me for D.C., but she’ll always be a daughter to me. I’m glad she found her place here, with him, and with you.”

“She’s still pretty hurt about what happened,” Laura says, because she can’t help it. Laura knows it’s not even her place to talk about a situation she was completely removed from, but she also remembers all the emotions that came with the aftermath -- including Fury’s betrayal, despite the fact that was what led Natasha to realize she needed to commit to their family for good.

“I know. She thinks I didn’t trust her.”

Laura regards him carefully. “Did you?”

Fury shakes his head. “No,” he says finally. “But not because I thought she couldn’t handle it. Because I knew how she would react. And Hill told me what happened after I died. I know she’s strong, but I couldn’t let her emotions compromise her when she had a job to do. It was a job that depended on keeping the circle small, and on her ability to focus. It was a hard call, but it was a call I had to make.” He pauses. “I think about that fact every time I know Clint’s in the field, putting aside his family to fight.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Laura decides and Fury raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not?”

She looks down at her hands, watching them shake. “I got worried,” Laura admits. “Clint told me before he left to use that phone if I felt unsafe, and I didn’t know...I’ve never had to do this before. I got a call from a woman who works at _Vanity Fair_ , asking about the Accords. She knew who I was, and she wanted to know about Clint. She said she found our number in the directory. I --”

“Christine Everhart.” Fury smiles wryly, and Laura finds herself startled. “Oh, yes, I know her. She’s become sort of the unofficial Avengers reporter. Did a lot of profiles and stories on Tony Stark back in the day, and she’s been all over the news since Sokovia. She’s harmless, I promise. For what it’s worth, she probably _did_ get your number out of the phone book.” He pauses. “But, you were right to worry.”

“What…” Laura trails off. “What do you mean?”

Fury rubs a hand over his face and takes a breath. “After the battle at the airport, Clint and a few others were taken.”

“Others?” Laura asks tentatively, and Fury shakes his head.

“Not Romanoff.”

“Wanda?”

Fury doesn’t answer, and Laura swallows hard. “Do you know what happened?”

“I don’t,” Fury says in a low voice. “We’re working on it. Thanks to logistics, and because your husband is good at his job, we’ve had trouble tracking his whereabouts. We do know he got to Germany via a jet flown by Bobbi Morse -- ex-military, ex-SHIELD, ex-scientist. He had Maximoff with him when he went through customs, and another man named Scott Lang.”

So at least Clint had been able to stay with Wanda, the way he had wanted to. Laura tries to let herself understand everything that Fury is saying.

“He told me that he was going against the law. Does that mean he's -- we’re in trouble?” When Fury gives her a sidelong glance, she sighs. “I don’t know why I even bothered to ask.”

Fury smiles wanly, putting a gentle hand on Laura’s leg. “Trouble will never stop, Laura. I think you know that. But until I hear anything further, I want you to continue to live your life.” He nods as she looks up. “Be vigilant, but keep things normal. Moving you or uprooting you right now might cause more suspicion, if Clint’s in that kind of trouble.”

“And if he is?”

“Then you have plans, don’t you?”

Laura nods and thinks of the bag in the closet, glancing at the closed door, in the direction of Cooper and Lila’s room. “He just wanted to retire,” she says quietly. “He went for Wanda. He left for Wanda.”

“I know,” says Fury. He turns the photo over in his hands. “You have a good husband, Laura.”

“I have a stubborn husband,” Laura corrects softly. “And an even more stubborn wife.”

Fury smiles, handing her back the photo. “Yes. I'd wager you do have that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Wanda's powers in the MCU are never really explicitly stated aside from what's shown in the films. In the comics, she's proficient in various forms of telekinesis. I did take a few liberties in how far her powers could stretch, but I don't think it's out of the realm to assume that she can read minds and could communicate that way. As for Peter being in ninth grade, since his age is never mentioned (aside from the fact he's in high school), I took his age from an interview that Kevin Feige did about Tom Holland's casting, where he mentioned Peter was a fifteen-year-old kid -- which is around the age of a freshman in high school.
> 
> As always, thank you for sticking with me and reading and commenting! There's some deeply emotional stuff coming, I swear. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a scene that could be loosely perceived as kidnapping (it's really more forcing someone out of the house). If this is something you think might trigger you, feel free to skim some of the first part of this chapter and read the notes at the end.

By the time Natasha arrives back at the farm it’s just after two in the morning.

She’d forced Tony to get her a quinjet, mostly because she's done with heavy travel but also because at least piloting gives her something to do, and allows her to take her mind off of the fact that Clint's in jail.

No, not jail. _Prison_. A prison somewhere in the middle of the ocean, guarded by too many people with guns and monitors. A place where they keep people like The Abomination, a place she had heard Clint talk about years ago when he teased her about where SHIELD sent people who stole too many french fries. She had laughed but curiously researched afterwards to see if he was making his stories up, and remembers the chill she had experienced when she realized the Raft really did exist, in all its government restricted glory.

She lands the quinjet inside the canopy of big trees a few meters away from the house; the same place her and Clint always hide it when they come home by non-traditional means of transportation and once she's sure she's safely hidden, she turns off the retro-reflective panels that have allowed the jet to hide in stealth mode. After unbuckling and getting out of the plane, she walks towards the house, climbing the porch stairs soundlessly. The air is thick with a breeze that Natasha recognizes as a deeper fall trying to worm its way into the final holdover of summer; the flowers in the garden at the front of the house are finally blooming in fragrant bursts, and it’s a night that Natasha knows is otherwise perfect for opening the windows and letting natural air in. She gets the door open easily and tiptoes inside, moving at a snail’s pace in case Laura happens to be up with Nate. The house is quiet, though, the only light coming from the windows where the blinds are half pulled up and from the blinking blue tint of the Keurig that’s plugged in on the counter. Natasha walks to the kitchen drawer where she knows Laura keeps the spare set of car keys and then quickly locates Nate’s Pack n’ Play, folding it up neatly. She brings it out to the car before she walks back inside and upstairs.

It’s Cooper she’ll wake first; she’d decided that on the way over with the hope that he’ll have enough sense to keep quiet while she gets everyone else out of the house. Laura will be woken up after and Natasha will take Nate while she’ll have Laura take Lila. A lump materializes in her throat as she enters the hallway, and she stops herself from walking towards Laura’s bedroom. Instead, she opens the door to Cooper and Lila’s room, walking over and kneeling down next to the bed, pushing aside a large chapter book that's fallen onto the covers.

“Hey,” she whispers softly, stroking his hair. Cooper flinches and then squints in the dark as his eyes focus.

“Nat?”

“Shhh.” Natasha bends her head low. “I’m home, and I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

Cooper nods slowly, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“Good. Go downstairs and put on your coat and shoes, and wait in the car.” She presses the key into his hand. “I’ll send your sister and your mom down in a few minutes.”

Cooper sits up, yawning. “What --”

“I can’t wake your sister,” Natasha continues in a whisper. “So no questions, okay? Can you be a grown-up and get in the car?”

Cooper nods again and gets out of bed, walking unsteadily out of the room. Natasha waits until she’s sure he’s gone downstairs before she finally walks across the hall. When she opens the door to the master bedroom, the first thing she sees is Laura lumped underneath the covers. Natasha leans down, fishing Laura's fingers from beneath the sheets, and runs her hand over Laura's wedding ring. She glances towards the jewelry box, where she knows Laura’s keeping her own ring, and then leans over to kiss Laura on the lips. At her touch, Laura stirs and then forces herself awake.

“Nat... _Natasha_?”

“Get up,” Natasha says once Laura’s eyes have fully opened, pulling her into a sitting position. “Get Lila, get her in the car, and try to keep her asleep if you can. She can take Brownie with her, but don’t stop for or take anything else. Cooper’s already downstairs and should be in the car. I’m going to take Nate.”

“Natasha, what --”

“Laura, get in the car,” Natasha repeats forcefully, ignoring the wince from her wife as she increases her grip on her arm. “I’ll explain everything, but I need to get everyone out of the house as soon as possible.”

“Natasha!” Laura yanks her hand away from Natasha’s with a painful grunt. “I can’t --”

“Laura,” Natasha hisses in frustration, knowing she can’t raise her voice. “I’m not going to hold you at gunpoint or chloroform you to make you listen to me. But as your wife and as the mother of these children, I am _telling_ you to get in the car and I am asking you to trust me. _Please._ Get yourself out of the house, _now_.”

Laura stares at Natasha with an unreadable expression and then walks out of the room. Natasha enters the guest bedroom, gently reaching down into the crib and picking up Nate.

“I know, little man. I know. Shhh, it's okay. Aunt Nat missed you,” she whispers as he flails and then falls onto her shoulder, open-mouthed and still mostly out of it. She grabs a blanket to drape over his body and keeps her movements slow and steady. When she reaches the hallway, she checks to make sure that Lila and Cooper’s room is empty. Natasha moves down the stairs, turning around to cast one more glance at the dark house. Despite the darkness, she can see the sunken couch cushions indicative of Laura’s naps and Cooper’s reading intervals, and the crayons on the floor, and a few of Lila's drawings scattered under the coffee table. Pain blossoms inside her chest, because everything feels like it should be a different and warmer welcome to the home she’s spent so much time away from.

Laura is already sitting in the passenger seat of the minivan when she gets outside, her face tight with anger and worry. Cooper is sitting in the back, his eyes harboring the same silent fear. Natasha opens the door and leans over to buckle Nate into his car seat.

“Where we goin’?” Lila asks from the middle seat, barely awake. Natasha glances at Laura as she closes the door on the passenger side.

“It’s okay, baby,” Laura soothes, turning around in her seat. “We’re just going on a little drive. Go back to sleep.”

Natasha gets in the car, trying to ignore the look she knows Laura is giving her. She can’t say anything, not without disturbing the kids and making this more of a production -- it was a miracle they’d gotten Lila and Nate out of the house with as little issue as they did, and she's simply trusting Cooper's knowledge of her job when it comes to asking questions. But she knows Laura, she’s known Laura for years, and she knows that Laura is angry. Natasha doesn’t bother to wonder if she knows about Clint; she’d done as much investigation as she could manage after Tony had told her where he had been taken, but as far as she could tell, news reports about what really happened in Leipzig were far and few between.

"Natasha."

Natasha stays silent, ignoring the undertone of quiet rage she can hear in Laura's voice. As they drive away from the farm and turn onto the main road, the dark path stretching endlessly in front of her, she tries to pretend that she’s driving to dinner or to a school play, like it’s any other night.

"Mommy?"

Natasha eyes the rearview mirror as Lila stirs, stretching and curling into the seat. 

"What is it, baby?"

"Why am I in the car?"

"Remember what I told you?" Laura's voice is gentle, despite her face being a mask of frustration. "We're taking a surprise trip. If you go back to sleep, we'll get there faster. Can you go back to sleep?"  

"Wanna song."

"We can sing, Lila baby." Laura turns around in the seat and starts a quiet rendition of "Over The Rainbow." By the time she's finished, Lila's fallen back asleep, and Laura turns her head to check on Cooper. Natasha follows her lead when they slow at a stop sign, and notices that he's staring out the window, looking lost. Every so often he shifts his gaze forward, fidgeting nervously in an imitation of what Natasha's seen Clint do when he's nervous or anxious.

"Mom? Is something wrong?"

"Coop, everything's fine," Laura responds calmly. Natasha tightens her knuckles around the steering wheel. The longer she drives, the more she can feel the silence and tension building, like a dark and swollen storm cloud that threatens to break itself open without warning. She loses track of time, keeping herself awake with the help of adrenaline and by measuring the steady inhale and exhale of Lila's loud breathing in the back seat. The sky is just beginning to bleed splotches of faint light when she finally gets to the part of the road that leads into a denser path. Natasha slows the car, lowering the speed limit until she rolls to a stop in front of a moderately-sized cabin. It's not until she finally gets out, stretching her legs painfully and working movement back into thighs full of pins and needles and still-healing bruises, that she finally feels like she can breathe again, the heavy air giving way to early morning fall breezes. 

“What is this place?” Laura asks curiously after she exits the car, shutting the door gently to avoid waking the kids, who are all still asleep.

“A safehouse,” Natasha says, nodding towards the property. “Sort of. It was originally a summer home that belonged to Melinda May, before she gave it up to SHIELD for use."

“May -- she was Clint’s S.O. when he started at SHIELD.” 

“Yes," Natasha acknowledges with a nod. "Turns out, there are still a few places that SHIELD has been lucky enough to keep hidden from HYDRA, and this was the closest one that was still off the grid. It's...it's not as far away from the farm as I'd like it to be, but it's better than a terrible motel on the side of the highway." She pauses, taking a deep breath. "Laura --”

“Natasha." Laura's voice is hard. "I have let you run away every time you needed to run. I have let you hurt Clint and me and the kids, and I have forgiven you for it every single time, because I love you. But you’re my wife and you _know_ better. This is unacceptable and you are going to tell me what’s going on.”

“I…” Natasha trails off, knowing however she chooses to say the words, they’re not going to be any easier to force out. “Clint was taken.”

“I know,” Laura says shortly and Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You do?”

“Fury visited a few days ago. If you had given me the courtesy of allowing me to talk while you were forcing me out of the house in the middle of the night, I could've told you that. He said he knew how he had traveled over to Germany, but that he didn’t know where he was.”

“I know where he is,” Natasha says, watching Laura’s face darken at the casual drop of information.

“Nat --”

“Clint’s in jail,” she rushes on. Laura pales considerably, but Natasha notices she keeps herself calm.

“Jail?”

“Prison,” Natasha corrects. “A highly secured prison that SHIELD uses for superpowered criminals.”

“Superpowered...I don’t understand. Why would he need to be there? Why would he need to be in jail at all? Because he went outside the law?” Laura’s voice rises. “Even if he did, Clint’s not a criminal, Natasha! He’s not one of those crazy people who terrorizes the world! He’s a dad, he’s a good person, he’s our _husband_ \--”

“I know,” Natasha snaps, unable to control herself any longer. “You don’t think I know that, Laura? Wanda’s not a criminal, either!”

Laura falls silent, looking at the ground and Natasha lets an awkward silence fill the space. When Laura speaks again, her voice is colder than Natasha’s used to.

“Why is he there and not you?”

“I...it’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Laura repeats curtly. “And so you came back to tear your own family from our home, like fugitives. Do you have any idea how I’m going to explain this to the kids? How this is going to look to them? Lila’s going to have a dozen questions and Cooper’s not five anymore, Natasha! How could you think this kind of thing was even remotely okay?”

Natasha clenches her fingers into hard fists. “Laura, it was the only way. I don’t know if anyone said anything about you in that place -- Clint wouldn’t, not even if it was tortured out of him. But he’s not alone in there and if no one else has kept silent it’s a risk. The _government_ has him. This isn't SHIELD or even HYDRA. This is Ross, and I don’t know what these people are capable of. But I do know that they wouldn’t hesitate to come after people and hurt them. I couldn’t take that chance. I --”

“You took us from our home!” Laura interrupts furiously, her voice more hysterical than Natasha thinks she’s ever heard. “You practically kidnapped us, without any warning, without telling me anything. You and Clint both told me there was a contingency plan if something happened, there were failsafes set up and money and ID cards, and this is how you reacted? The kids have school tomorrow! We barely have clothes or toiletries. We -- Natasha, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

“That it’s better for you to lose it and scream at me like this out here than do it in the house while you’re in possible danger,” Natasha says quietly, reaching a hand forward. Laura flinches and steps back and everything in Natasha's body, from her brain to her bones, throbs painfully.

“Laura, I love you. I’m not apologizing for what I did, but I need you to understand why I did it. I needed you to be safe. I needed _us_ to be safe.”

“But you didn’t need to do it this way!” Laura explodes. “How can you not understand that, Natasha? You acted like I was one of your missions! My husband -- _our_ husband, he’s in _prison_ , and instead of doing something about it, you’re snatching your own kids out of the house, like you’re some sort of rogue assassin all over again! You couldn’t even trust me to help you. I thought we were past all this, the stupid non-verbal communication where you just react without thinking because you can't spare me the decency to have a two minute conversation about why you needed to drag me out of bed. Do you really think that if you told me we were all in danger, I wouldn't know how to react? Do you really think I wouldn't trust you if you told me I was in trouble?”

Natasha swallows, averting her eyes and focusing on the ground. “There’s no communication system that I consider safe right now, not even a burner phone. Not even spy code. And I couldn’t assume that the house wasn’t already monitored because someone said something without my knowledge. If I warned you, if I even so much as tipped anyone off to a change in your behavior and made this look like anything else other than a kidnapping, I ran the risk of putting us in even more danger.” She pauses, allowing her words to sink in. “Don’t you understand? There wasn’t any other way I could do this. I had to get in and out and make sure you were safe, and the easiest way to do that was by forcing you. All of you.”

Laura stares at her, tears pooling along the rim of her eyelids. “I need to get the kids out of the car and put them to bed,” she says after a long silence. “Stay out of the way until I come back. I don’t want Lila to be up all night when she realizes you’re around.”

Natasha nods, handing Laura the key that she’s taken. “Bedrooms are down the hall, on the first left. I put Nate’s portable playpen in the car so he can sleep in there since there's no crib.”

Laura takes the key from Natasha’s hand and Natasha backs away, shrinking into the shadows as Laura goes back to the car. She watches from a distance as Laura opens the door, rousing Cooper first and then Lila, talking quietly as she leads them into the house while holding Nate in one arm. Natasha swallows down still prominent memories as light floods the small cabin, remembering the way she felt years ago when she came to the farm secretly because she believed she could never have a place within its walls. She sits down on a thick log behind the car, folding her head into her hands. When Laura comes back outside almost twenty minutes later, Natasha notices her hair has been brushed and tied back, and that she's carrying two glasses of clear liquid.

“You found the good stuff?”

“I don’t know if Stoli is the good stuff,” Laura answers, sitting down next to her. “But it's all that was in the cupboard. And it’s something.”

“It is,” Natasha agrees softly, taking a glass from Laura. The liquid catches in the dull moonlight, casting a jagged spire over the surface of the alcohol. “God, I missed you.”

“That makes two of us. Clint didn’t even give me a proper goodbye before he left. If you know what I mean.”

“We’ll make up for it,” Natasha decides and Laura shakes her head, laughing quietly under her breath.

“I used to wonder if I was crazy,” Laura says, drinking more. “For so many years, Clint would go off and work, and you guys would sleep together and have your own relationship, and I still felt like I was luckiest person in the world, because I had both of you coming home to me. And then at some point, I stopped wondering about things, because I just knew. I knew that I loved you and that you loved our family, even if you sometimes got scared and had a hard time showing it.”

Natasha catches Laura's eye. “I don’t think relationships stop working because you get complacent.”

“No,” Laura agrees softly. “They don’t.” She draws a small circle over the rim of the glass with the pad of her thumb. “I always trusted you, even when I was scared of you. Even when I read your file, even when Clint told me about your past. I trusted my gut, because of his love for you and because of what I felt. But tonight, you violated that trust, Natasha. You violated my trust because of the way you acted. You made me feel threatened. You threatened our children. This wasn’t the way we should’ve communicated, no matter how scared you were. And I know you know better than this.”

Natasha takes in the words with quiet breaths and an increasingly heavy heart. “I knew it was wrong,” she admits, keeping her voice soft. “But I’m not going to apologize for why I did it.”

“I know you’re not,” Laura says tiredly, and Natasha waits through another awkward silence until she’s sure Laura’s not going to say anything else.

“I need to go away again.”

Laura drags a hand across her eyes. “You just came home, pulled me from my bed, and then told me that Clint’s locked up in some prison. If you think I'm going to let you leave in the next five minutes, you’re crazy.”

“Laura, I have to. I’m going to ask Cap to help me rescue him from that place, but I want to be there to get him out. Him and Wanda.” She takes her free hand, clasping it tightly. “He’d come for me. You know he would.” 

Laura looks down and takes another drink as Natasha strokes her hair.

“There’s a contingency suitcase in the trunk. I packed some clothes for you guys, just in case. And there’s a small convenience store a few miles away if you need to buy anything you don’t have. It's remote out here, and no one would think to look for you off the beaten path. Stay here for a few days, away from the farm. Please. Just until I’m sure nothing is going to happen. Tell the kids you were trying to surprise them.”

“And what do I say when they ask about their dad?” Laura asks, her voice breaking. “Lie about where he is? What if they see something on the news?”

“Nat?”

Laura and Natasha look up as Cooper’s head appears around the side of the car.

“Sorry. Um. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

Laura meets Natasha's eyes and nods slowly, holding out her hand. “It’s okay, kiddo. Come here.” Laura pulls him onto her lap and he adjusts himself as well as he can for his gangly frame, looking down at the cup of vodka and making a face at the obvious unappealing smell.

“Where are we?”

“A friend’s house,” Natasha answers. “We’re not too far from the farm, though.”

“Oh.” He looks around at the open space and trees and then back at Natasha. “You’re home. But dad’s not. Is something wrong with dad?”

Laura shakes her head. “Why would you think something’s wrong with dad? Natasha comes home without dad sometimes. You know that.”

“Because we left home in the middle of the night. And Natasha told me not to ask questions about it. _And_ you’re both out here talking in secret,” Cooper points out, looking at each one of them in turn. “You only talk about things in secret with Nat or dad when things are bad and you don’t wanna tell me about it.”

Natasha studies Cooper's face, the worry lines on his forehead that are so indicative of Clint. “Your dad got himself into a bit of trouble, but it’s okay. I’m going to help him.”

The crease between Cooper's brow deepens considerably. “What kind of trouble?”

“Coop --”

“No.” Cooper stares up at Laura. “I’m old enough, mom. Dad told me why he was leaving and I want to know.”

Natasha smiles tightly and tries not to think of Peter Parker. “He’s right,” she agrees, and Laura narrows her eyes.

“ _Natasha_.”

“Laura, I’m his mother, too.” She ignores the exasperated look Laura gives her and puts her cup on the ground. “Coop, your dad got in trouble because he helped our friends.”

“Like Wanda?”

Natasha nods. “Yes. Like Wanda.”

“Is that why we had to get up at night and leave? Because of dad and Wanda?”

“Just for now,” Natasha replies. “We can all go back home once I make sure you’re all safe. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Cooper twists his small fingers together. “I thought something was wrong. You wouldn't let me talk, and you wouldn't talk to mom in the car, and I didn't know if you were fighting. It scared me. I thought...I thought maybe someone was coming to hurt us.” He mumbles the words, as if he’s afraid to say them, because doing so will make him seem like he’s more scared than he’s letting on. Natasha takes his hand and squeezes it tightly.

“No one is going to ever hurt you on my watch. Or your mom’s. We’re going to keep you safe, and we're always going to be here to keep you safe. I just needed to make sure you were okay for tonight.” Natasha smiles gently. “You did a really good job following directions and being a grown-up.”

Cooper smiles shyly. “Dad told me to. I mean, he told me to be a grown-up while he was gone.”

“I know.” Natasha tries to swallow past the lump in her throat and Cooper looks up at Laura, his eyes narrowing into hopeful slits.

“Does this mean I don’t have to go to school tomorrow?”

Laura stifles a laugh. “We’ll let you have at least one day off,” she allows. “If you promise to do some of your homework. You think you can try to go back to bed? I’ll be inside soon.”

Cooper looks over at Natasha and nods. “Yeah. Are you -- will you stay?”

Natasha shakes her head. “I want to, but I have to go help your dad. I’ll be home after that.”

"Promise?”

“Coop, you know what your dad and I tell you about promises.”

"Yeah." He scuffs his foot against the ground with a sigh. "We don't make promises. I know. It's okay, Nat." He slides off Laura’s lap and hugs Natasha, and both Natasha and Laura watch in silence as he walks back inside.

“Stay the night,” Laura offers when he’s gone, and Natasha shakes her head.

“I -- I can’t. I told you, I have to go help Clint.”

“How?”

Natasha realizes she doesn’t have a response to that. “I don't know yet. I need to do some research and I need to find out where Cap is. But the sooner I do all of that, the sooner I can get him out of there. Besides, you said you didn’t want Lila to know I was here. And she’ll never let me leave if she wakes up.” She reaches into her pocket and takes out the bent arrowhead she had pocketed from the airport tarmac. Laura inhales sharply as she takes it from Natasha’s hand.

“When I finished fighting, he was already gone,” she says quietly, watching Laura play with the object. “I didn’t see where he went, or how they took him away. I do know that he protected Wanda. And I saw enough during the fight that we were in to know that Wanda was protecting him, too. I may not be there in prison with him, but he’s still got someone watching his back.”

Laura blinks quickly, hiding thick tears. “You’ll bring him home.”

“Yes,” Natasha says, even though it's not a question. “The kids need their dad.”

“Bring him home,” Laura repeats, her voice trembling, and Natasha places her hand on top of Laura’s fingers, squeezing.

“I will.”

 

***

 

After Natasha leaves her family, feeling somewhat assured that they’re safe from whatever phantom harm she’s imagined could be waiting for them, she takes a detour to one of the last remaining security vaults that SHIELD has kept active. After breaking into the vault, Natasha spends hours rifling through dusty files in the smallest room she's ever seen, suffering through stiff muscles and stuffy air. When Steve calls her, interrupting a headache that comes with staring at mountains of boring and small text, she suggests that they meet in Central Park, because it’s the easiest place to sit undetected while the world continues to move on as if nothing’s wrong.

As if their friends haven’t been put in one of the most terrible places SHIELD had ever created.

“I feel like I’ve been here before,” Steve remarks when he meets her at the ornate concrete bridge overlooking Bethesda Fountain. Natasha smiles faintly.

“I thought it was a good place for us to come full circle. Even though we're not dealing with Asgardians this time around. Or even corrupt SHIELD agents.” She reaches into her bag to retrieve a thick folder, not taking her eyes off the tourists milling around below her. “Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for asking," Steve answers, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You could do this yourself, you know. You know how to fly a jet, and your hacking skills aren't exactly rudimentary."

"And you could have been at Peggy's funeral by yourself, because no one else understands what it feels like to lose the last person you really knew. So while I appreciate the vote of confidence, I can also be honest and tell you that there's no way I can do this alone."

Steve huffs out a quiet laugh. "Well, I appreciate you being honest," he says and Natasha manages a smile, her mind flashing to brightly lit bedrooms and concussions from bunker explosions, promises that led to a solid friendship.

"I thought so. Anyway, I’ve pulled everything I could find on the Raft. Figuring out the exact coordinates was a bit of a headache, but I guess that’s where reading everything in SHIELD’s files came in handy, and I was able to piece together the rest. Essentially, it’s a supermax floating prison in the middle of the Arctic Ocean.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “So, it’s like the Fridge.”

“Not exactly.” Natasha hands over the folder and lets Steve open it. “The Raft is much harder to get to, and security is pretty tight. Ross doesn’t mess around. You could probably get past the men at the Fridge in a minute; the people guarding the Raft, it would more likely take an hour.” She pauses. “It’s a place that’s made for more than just criminals, Steve. It’s a place that’s made for lunatics. Serial killers, people who are so dangerous, the world can’t risk them ever getting out. T'Challa's punishments would have been nicer than this place.”

Steve continues to look through the papers, pausing to rub the back of his knuckles across his wide forehead. “No way in other than underwater?”

“Not necessarily.” Natasha points at a wide circular design. “This is prison control. I should be able to get in and hack the system so that we can land, but the trick is going to be doing everything fast enough. You need to get in there and take down most of the guards before anyone has a chance to realize what’s happening.”

"Or notify Ross." Steve looks over the prints. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he confirms with the same offhand manner that he had displayed while they were discussing how to get Sam’s wings out of Fort Meade, a memory that now seems so long ago. “Where do I go?”

“Here.” Natasha points to a partitioned off room down a long hallway. “Or around here, I think. This place is big, and Level Eight has the main block of available cells, from what I’ve been able to figure out. There should be monitors in the control room, and as long as they’re still intact, you can at least see where everyone has been placed. But that’s where the timing gets tricky. You can get everyone out no problem, but depending on how long it takes to find them…”

Steve nods slowly in understanding. “You don’t know how long you can hold the controls.”

“I’m pretty confident about my skills,” says Natasha. “But at the risk of being pessimistic, no, I don’t know how long I can hold the controls. And I’m sure their gear isn’t being kept near them, either.” She pauses. “I can go in and help you get them out.”

“No,” Steve says automatically, shaking his head. “No way. You’ve done enough, Nat. And besides, I need you at the jet.”

“I can control it remotely if I need to,” Natasha answers, only a little affronted at his strict refusal. “Besides, this isn’t about how much I’ve done. It’s about what I _need_ to do.”

“You didn’t _need_ to let me go at the airport,” Steve points out wisely. “You knew what could happen.”

“So did you,” Natasha answers. “Don’t you remember that I asked you once if you would trust me to get your back, if it came down to it? And you told me you would.” She presses her lips together. “Breaking promises is not exactly something I want to keep doing around here.”

Steve lets his head hang forward, staring at the ground. “I never meant for them to get caught up in this. Clint, Wanda, Sam...even that new guy. They knew we were outside the law, but I never imagined they would end up someplace like this.”

“If you’re insinuating that I feel guilty because Clint is in there and not me, don’t be. It was my choice.” Natasha takes the files back and carefully sticks the folder underneath her arm. “Where did you go? With Bucky?”

Steve hesitates and then leans forward on his elbows. “Wakanda.”

Natasha stares at him, because she knows there’s more he’s not saying, especially given the fact that the last time she saw T'Challa, he was ready to tear both of them to pieces more than he was ready to offer them a safehouse. “Must’ve been a pretty tough trip,” she says evasively, nodding towards the bruise on his face and the cuts lining his cheek. Steve smiles wryly.

“You wanna tell me all about your long and involved trips to Barton’s farm?”

“We both know what we know,” Natasha reminds him with an eyebrow raise, and Steve runs a hand through his hair. In a flash, Natasha sees the kid he must have been years ago, before the serum and before the star-spangled costume.

“I put Bucky back under.”

Natasha can’t help the shudder that runs through her body. “I’m sorry.”

“If you’re insinuating that I feel guilty Bucky stayed there without me, don’t be.” He meets Natasha’s eyes with a sad smile. “It was his choice, for once. And I feel a lot better knowing he’s safe, if they decide to come looking for him.”

Natasha closes her eyes against the otherwise cheerful scenery indicative of a bright fall day in the park. “In the Red Room...a lot of girls, after they got out into the world and realized they didn’t have to be controlled anymore, they made their own choices.”

“To run?”

Natasha shakes her head. “No. They bit down on a cyanide tooth.”

Steve shudders. “Jesus, Nat.”

“It was what it was,” Natasha continues nonchalantly. “The point is, just because someone makes a decision on their own, it doesn’t always mean it's easy.”

“Did Clint pay you to sound like a fortune cookie?” When she throws him a glare, he puts his hands up. “Sorry. Just trying to make a joke. Figured we could use one after the past few days.”

 _You have no idea_ , Natasha thinks, suddenly feeling more tired than she thinks she ever has. “You know that no matter how well we pull this off, Ross is going to find out. And he won’t stop looking for us.” She glances at him. “You know that, and that’s why you took Barnes to Wakanda.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “I mean, that’s part of it. But I think I’m ready for that simple life Tony talked about. Not in terms of settling down, but...I don’t know if I can be Captain America anymore, Nat. At least, not in the way people want me to be.”

“Nothing is ever simple,” Natasha says, almost without thinking about it, and Steve snorts.

“You wanna unpack that?”

“Not really.” She mulls over the words in her mind before she says them out loud. “When Ross first told us about the Accords, he said that if we didn’t agree, we could retire. I know he didn’t mean it like that, but I did think about it. For awhile. I wondered how easy it would be to give it all up like Clint did, stay at home and stop protecting the world...stop being responsible for other people's problems. And then I realized I didn’t want to leave this family. I didn't want to walk away from what we had become over the past four years.” She lets her mind settle on Laura and Clint. “I guess I thought I had finally stopped running. I got comfortable and I thought after all this time, it wouldn't be any different. But I should know better. We have what we have when we have it.”

Steve tugs at the file folder, taking it back from her and tucking it underneath his own arm. “I never thanked you for coming to Peggy’s funeral.”

“It wasn’t a responsibility,” Natasha says. “I wanted to be there.”

“You wanted to be there for me," Steve responds. "And Sam came with me.”

Natasha smiles tightly. “You remember what I told you? About my parents?” She watches her face, knowing the previous sentence wasn’t lost on him. “Like I said, no one should have to go through something like that alone.”

Steve turns around, leaning his back against the bridge. “Barton’s family.”

Natasha follows his lead. “They’re safe. For now. I don’t know if anyone talked, and I won’t know until I can talk to Clint. All I can do right now is get them off the grid, which I’ve done."

“You know if you need --”

“I’m not uprooting them and sending them to someplace like Wakanda,” Natasha interrupts. “I won’t. Not unless Ross sends real, viable kill threats that we can confirm, and even then, between me and Clint, we can protect them. Right now, they’re away from their home, they're hidden and they know their potential danger, and that’s enough.” She takes his free hand, lacing their fingers together. “You told me you couldn’t sign the Accords, Steve, and I knew why. It went against what you stood for. But no matter what I felt about Ross and the government, I couldn’t let my family fall apart. Even if it went against what I stood for, too.”

Steve looks down at their interlocked fingers, sighing quietly. “I know. You ready for this?”

Natasha drops their hands and walks off without waiting to see if he’ll follow, each step feeling like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

 

***

 

Clint’s sleeping, or at least trying to sleep, when the alarms sound. Scott startles in the cell next to him and Sam flinches, but Clint remains stationary, staring up at the ceiling with his arms clasped behind his head.

_Recurve. Clicker. Grip. Recurve. Clicker. Grip._

Repetition of the make of his most familiar bow was a standard calming tactic when he was out of his element, or when he was angry, or when he couldn’t be calmed by either Natasha or Laura. After New York, he had stopped using this particular practice -- it had been too much to remind himself of what he had done with his own weapon while Loki had control of him. It had been too much to know that the one thing he could always count on to be secure and comforting couldn’t be trusted anymore, and he quickly found that the exercise had gone from a helpful anxiety measure to the impetus for a full-blown panic attack, one that made him miss Lila’s assembly concert. It had only been recently, thanks to Cooper’s work with his bow, that he had started to feel okay about starting the exercise again.

Natasha and Laura made fun of him for it at one point, but they eventually came to understand that’s how Clint was mostly able to deal when he was pissed. And the truth is, right now, Clint’s _pissed_. Not just Natasha-shot-me-in-the-leg-again, my-kids-won’t-let-me-sleep-without-screaming-the-alphabet pissed. Clint is angry, so angry that his whole body vibrates with tension and a desire for violence.

 _I’m in a fucking prison built for criminals_ , he thinks, clenching his fingers behind his head as Scott’s fingers drum loudly against his legs in a strangely annoying way. _My family has no idea where I am. Natasha and I fought each other and she tried to hurt me. Wanda is locked up like a mental patient who can’t be trusted with her own two hands. And I’m the cause of all of it._

His mind travels to Cooper, and the noose around his throat tightens as he thinks of his son. _Just come home._ Years of being a father and a SHIELD agent and he had made his own dumb mistake of promising something that seemed so simple, when he and Natasha knew that this was the exact reason behind why they didn't make promises in the first place. It would surprise him if his arrest wasn’t all over the news; Ross would probably want to keep the real details underwraps, but he also knows the guy wouldn’t miss a chance to gleefully announce to the world that dangerous people were no longer a threat. Clint grits his teeth again, resisting the urge to slam his foot into the wall in front of him.

_You broke the law. I didn’t make you._

As if he had a choice. As if he didn’t _know_ he was going against the law, and yeah, even if he hadn't had that luxury, he had already made his decision. Tony talked as if he understood what the magnitude of that decision meant; as if he thought Clint was so careless he couldn’t have _possibly_ have gone through days and hours of guilt and hurt.

_You're all grown up, you got a wife and kids. I don't understand, why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?_

As if he had any idea what went into his decision, or what Wanda meant to him. As if he didn’t understand what it meant to leave Cooper and Lila and Laura and Nate, and fight against his other half knowingly. As if he didn't get that there wasn't a right side and there wasn't a wrong side. There was simply owing a debt, and there was family, and the fact that family meant more than just people who were his own by flesh and blood and vows and rings. It wasn’t really surprising, he thinks, that he snapped at Tony when he went so far as to bring up his fucking _family_ in front of everyone in the goddamn room, when he knew firsthand that was something no one else was supposed to know about.

Clint does move his head when a loud and hollow banging starts to penetrate his eardrum. When he sits up, he's surprised to see Steve standing in front of him, sans shield, and dressed in nothing but stealth black.

“Man, you know, you made us wait here for longer than I thought, but it’s totally worth it to see you open a reinforced steel door like that,” Sam says with a grin as the heavy metal bars lift on his cell, the glass door sliding open with a loud _whoosh_ to allow Sam to exit. Scott cautiously climbs out of his newly opened cell, and Clint eyes the reunion warily from inside his own compartment.

“Cap?”

“Barton.” Steve eyes him back. “You gonna come out of there, or am I going to have to force you?”

“Depends on where you’re taking me.” Clint steps forward as the bars on his own cell lift. He briefly wonders how Steve has managed to override the very obvious automatic controls of the Raft, but he lets it go. After all, he had gotten himself to Germany with nothing but a tiny plane, a sketchy van that looked like it was part of a drug deal, and the help of an ex-girlfriend who he really should have told both Laura and Natasha about at some point.

Sam and Scott have vacated their own cells and are standing with Steve in the middle of the room; Scott looks apprehensive while Sam looks both excited and confident, and Clint supposes he would. After all, he probably figured his friend would come for him and was simply counting down the moments until he arrived. Clint didn't have the comfort of believing someone would come save him, because there were only three people he expected to come drag his sorry ass out of this place. One had tried to kill him, one was locked up just like he was, and the third was trying to parent three children he had left behind.

“Where’s our gear?”

“We’re working on it,” Steve responds. “I kind of had a priority to get you guys out first.”

“Oh, good. Because we’re already up for starring roles on _America’s Most Wanted_. Where’s Wanda?”

“We’re getting her out, too,” Steve says. “I promise. But right now, we need to get moving.” He starts for the door with Scott and Sam, walking briskly until Scott clears his throat and looks back, tapping Steve on the shoulder.

“Clint.” Steve fixes him with a hard stare that Clint returns easily.

“Yeah. Look, I’m not moving until I know for certain what’s going on with Wanda. And you’re not being very specific with your information. So what do you mean by  _getting her out_?”

Steve sighs impatiently. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Clint.”

“I didn’t ask you to lie to me.” He stops and takes a breath, letting it out slowly. “Get our gear and let me find her. I can figure out where she is.”

“Barton --”

“That wasn’t a question, Cap.”

Steve looks at Clint and then at Sam and Scott, who are silently studying the walls, as if they know entering the conversation won’t do them any good.

“Go,” he says quietly. “But we don’t have a lot of time, and we’re already pushing it.”

Clint immediately strides past Steve, walking out of the room and through the halls, even though he only vaguely knows where he’s going. Aside from random check-ins to confirm she hadn’t been hurt, Wanda hadn’t reached out to him since they were first imprisoned, and Clint had tried not to focus too much on that. He had wished he could return the telepathic thoughts Wanda had been sending him, but he wasn't capable of that kind of power, and the frustration of his hands being tied when it came to relying on someone else to tell him they were okay hadn’t been sitting well with him. 

Clint wanders through what he assumes has to be a control center, glancing up at the dark markings on the wall. **RL-8**. Raft Level 8, then. Which meant there had to be multiple halls, and he's still got no idea where Wanda might be, or if she's even on their floor. He maneuvers past prone bodies and splintering, blinking screens until he reaches the first long hallway, and decides to take a chance based on the fact Wanda had been able to communicate with him pretty easily. He pauses briefly to assess each door, trying to make out which ones might be more guarded than others. Clint presses a hand against the first one he sees; there’s nothing that he can feel or see that indicates there’s anyone inside and so he moves on to the next one, doing the same thing. When he reaches the fourth door on his left, he becomes aware of heat emitting from the inside, warmth staining his palm. It’s barely detectable, but it’s there, and Clint presses his ear to the door, forcing his senses into overtime.

There’s no actual noise or sound coming from inside the room, but Clint’s ears pick up on the distinct hum of something that sounds like one of his sonic arrows, a noise that he knows means there’s either some sort of ventilation going, or some kind of energy surge.

An energy surge that would potentially counteract any powers someone like Wanda might have.

Clint tries the door, unsurprised when it refuses to budge. He frowns, brows creasing as he studies the keypad, figuring it’s probably too much to assume that when Steve killed the controls, he had also killed every control for every cell at the Raft -- that would be beneficial and convenient, but it would also be pretty dumb.

“Wanda,” he calls out, pressing his mouth against the door for good measure. He has no idea if she can hear him, or if she's even in there, but without his gear he's got no other option, short of going back and asking for help. “Wanda, it’s Clint. If you can hear me, do that telepathic thing and let me know.” He waits with increasing worry as the seconds stretch, and then pounds a fist against the door, raising his voice. “Wanda!”

_Clint? What is going on?_

Clint tries not to pay attention to how tired and weak she sounds, different than how she had sounded from the last time they had communicated.

_I’m here to get you out. Cap’s here, and we’re getting the hell away from this shithole. But I can’t open your door. I need you to use your powers and help me._

_I told you_ , Wanda thinks sadly. _They locked me up. I cannot move. I cannot use my powers._

 _I know they locked you up_ , Clint thinks back. _But you can do something, Wanda. You don’t need to just use your hands to make your powers work. I know you. And I know how good you are._

_I will hurt you. I tried to help in Lagos, and it was too much. I will kill you._

_You won't kill me. You can control this, Wanda._

_I cannot._

_Wanda,_ Clint thinks impatiently. _I’m not leaving this place without you. So we either die in here together, or you help me and you get yourself out. I know you can do this. Trust me._

There’s no response, and Clint leans his forehead against the door, feeling both defeated and frustrated. In another second, the door grows hot against his forehead. He jerks back as it creaks and groans, the keypad glowing bright red, and then the door moves slowly to create an opening. It doesn’t open all the way, but it’s enough for Clint to get himself inside, and once he gets into the cell he almost wishes he hadn’t entered at all.

Wanda is curled into the corner, a blue straitjacket wrapped tightly around her body, thick black straps binding her limbs together. Her eyes are sunken and hollow with what Clint recognizes as both defeat and malnutrition and he instantly wonders if she's been drugged, given her blank stare and pale face. Her dark hair hangs loosely around her shoulders, accentuating her sallow skin. She looks nothing like the girl he’s watched practically grow up before his eyes, and she doesn’t even look like the inexperienced fighter she was in Sokovia -- she looks small and vulnerable, like one of Clint’s children. Without even trying, Clint instantly sees Lila after she’s had a nightmare and Cooper after he’s had a fight with a friend.

“Hey,” Clint says quietly. “We’re getting out of here.”

Wanda doesn’t answer, staring straight ahead with the same braindead stare. Clint kneels down next to her, putting his palm against her face. Her cheeks are flushed, as if she’s running a low-grade fever, and his eyes drop to the shock collar blinking around her neck.

“Wanda. Come on, you gotta work with me.”

Wanda finally moves her gaze, blank eyes shifting to stare into his own. “They are right,” she says in a voice that sounds like it hasn’t been used for days. “This is where I am supposed to be. Like I said, I have caused enough trouble.”

“No,” Clint says, putting a hand on the blinking lock holding the collar around Wanda’s neck. “ _No one_ is supposed to be in this place. Least of all us, and especially not you. Do you know how this thing works?"

Wanda's resigned face speaks volumes and Clint curses under his breath, trying to inspect the collar more closely. "Okay. I think there's a control on here to turn it off, but I don't know if it's going to set something else off. So if I do something and it hurts you, let me know somehow. Alright?" He reaches around, feeling for a switch or a keypad, and tentatively presses his thumb against a small raised button. The lock of the collar opens almost instantly and Wanda gasps as it falls away, as if it's prevented her from being able to breathe properly.

"You're okay," Clint murmurs as she gasps again, shuddering. "Wanda, you're okay. I'm going to help you up, alright?"

She shakes her head with such vigor that Clint sees the muscles in her neck tighten, as if she's being strangled. For the first time, he notices the bruised marks on her throat and he wonders if they're from being shocked, or from something else entirely.

“Look, I know you’re scared. I _know_ you are. And you have every right to be. But remember what I told you back in Sokovia? I can’t do my job and babysit. I’m not going to drag you out of here, Wanda. I’m not going to force you to save yourself, because that’s not what you deserve. You make your own choices and you create your own agency, even here. But I’m also not leaving you, so, like I said -- you get out with me, or we die in here together. We stay here, we’re government property, we never see Natasha or my family ever again. Come with me, I’ll protect you, and I’ll make sure you’re safe. I promise.”

“I do not have anywhere to go,” Wanda says so despondently that Clint feels angry, because he suddenly can’t get the image of another girl out of his mind, one that was also scared and distrusting thanks to what had been done to her.

“Yeah, you do. Because even if Ross tracks my sorry ass down to Iowa, I’ll be there waiting to blow his head off.” He ignores the way her eyes widen at the harshness of his words. “Listen, Wanda, you gotta trust me, because we don’t have time for me to sit down and give you a dad talk about facing your fears. We gotta go, and we gotta go now.” He reaches for the thick binding around the straitjacket, but Wanda recoils almost instantly.

“No.” She manages to get the rest of the straps off quickly and after she’s completely freed herself, she crawls onto her knees and tries to stand. Clint notices she’s shaking, and the moment she puts her hands against the wall to steady her body, she vomits onto the floor.

“Drugged,” she confirms weakly as she gags up water and spit, because nothing else is in her system. Clint resists the urge to help her even in her clearly compromised state, knowing from experience that she needs this independence after being so forcibly treated.

“Okay,” Clint says quietly. “Breathe, Wanda. Deep breaths, in and out, let it pass. You’re okay. Whatever drugs were in your system, they're on their way out. It’s just your body getting used to everything again.” He waits until she’s stopped dry heaving, and until she takes her hands away from the wall. She’s still shaking, and her face is still white as a sheet, but at least she’s no longer teetering dangerously in a way that makes Clint worry she's going to collapse.

“You can walk, right?”

Wanda nods slowly, putting one foot in front of the other. “Yes. I can walk, Clint.”

Clint lets out a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding. “Good. Then follow me.” He grabs her hand more out of instinct than anything else, despite his knowledge of knowing she doesn’t want to be helped or touched, but Wanda squeezes his hand tightly as they move out of the room and back down the hallway. He silently thanks his photographic memory for the ability to at least remember how to get back to the control room, but realizes suddenly that he has no idea how to get out of this place. Steve had obviously gotten here via some means of transportation that was most likely a quinjet, given how they were taken in, but he can’t seem to find where the landing pad might be located.

“Take a moment,” he says, nodding to the doorframe of the control center and being careful of the bodies and weapons littering the floor. “I wanna see if I can find us a way out.” He catches Wanda looking down at the guards uncertainly and waves his hand around. "They’ll be out for awhile. Don't worry. Cap’s good at his job.”

“It is not that,” Wanda says, her voice still stiff. “I hear something.”

“Like a quinjet?” Clint asks, training his ears towards the hallway again.

“No,” Wanda says, her voice ominous. “Like a buzzing. The same kind of buzzing I have heard from some of your arrows.”

Clint turns in puzzlement and opens his mouth to respond. Before he can, his world is thrown into chaos, blinding light and shrieking white noise that causes him to collapse. He falls to his knees, dizzy against the overwhelming siren that bleeds into his eardrums. Unable to control his balance, he pitches forward, smashing the side of his skull against one of the control panels with a sickening crack.

“Clint!”

The rush of noise in his ears and the blinding light is too familiar, and while there’s a part of his brain that’s logical enough to remind him this isn’t that -- it isn’t Loki, it _can’t_ be Loki -- the feelings he hasn’t experienced in over four years are strong enough to send him into a full-blown panic attack, and he suddenly can’t breathe.

_No...not again. Jesus, not again. I won’t do it. I won’t tell you anything again, I won’t go back in your head again. I won’t give them up again. I won’t give her up again._

“No,” he manages to get out as he presses his face into the floor, open mouthed and gasping for air against the cold linoleum.

_Cold. Cold like ice. Ice in his veins, ice on his skin, ice in his mind. Everything ice, everything chilly and blank and paralyzing and blue. Ice behind his eyes, because he can’t sleep and can’t blink. A sharpness, a sharper world than he's ever seen, something sinister and terrifying washing over his body that he can't shake._

_It was always colder and sharper, in Loki's world._

He flings his hands over his ears, cowering as flashes of blue and a disturbingly smooth voice weaves through his skull.

 

_“You seem to know a great deal about your teammates, Agent Barton. Is there one in particular I should take notice of?”_

_“Agent Romanoff, sir. She’s my partner. She knows the most about me.”_

_“And will she be easy to get information from?”_

_“I believe so. She’s probably more focused on finding me than anyone else is, which means she probably won’t be at her sharpest. She won’t even see that the team is becoming a threat to each other. That’s her weakness. She cares about me more than she cares about anyone else."_

_“Thank you, Agent Barton. You are truly proving that you are most valuable in this mission.”_

 

“No, no…no, get out! Get out!”

He's screaming the words and someone else is yelling his name, telling him to move. But he can’t seem to make his legs work, and once again, he's at the mercy of blue eyes and cold hands. Everything is too loud and too sharp, the edges of the world curling like pointed fingertips that threaten to stab his brain. He cowers on the floor, his body contorting into a tight ball as more pain explodes through his head, bringing with it both darkness and silence.

Clint doesn’t know which one he wants more, so he gives up completely and welcomes both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, yes, please come scream about all your feelings at me..I am not sorry. ;) We're off book when it comes to Civil War now, which means this is about to get serious. And by serious, I mean prepare your feelings.
> 
> As for the Laura/Natasha kidnapping: I normally don't talk in depth about scenes I've written, but this was a tough sequence both to write and outline, because I wanted to make sure it came across the right way. Given that Natasha wouldn't have confirmation of whether or not Laura and the kids were in danger, she'd react the only way that made sense to her. In the process of trying to protect her family, I wanted Natasha to, in some ways, regress to the person she was before she became close with Laura and have that impact register with Laura. But it's also important for me to that recognize Natasha wouldn't apologize for her motivations or decisions, which would have been carefully thought out. Relationships never stop being a work in progress, especially when new and scary situations happen, and this is just one example of that.
> 
> Eternal thanks for intrikate88 and inkvoices for being beta readers for this chapter and helping me work through some of the finer points of "Natasha's Great Kidnapping Spree." Also to Shelly because half of this was edited on your couch. Seriously, you guys deserve all the kudos and cookies.


	10. Chapter 10

When Natasha was a free agent and an assassin of the Red Room, she thought she had suffered the worst of everything: broken bones, painful heartache, sleepless nights and horrific brainwashing triggers. It had been a wake-up call of sorts to love Laura and Clint the way she had come to love them, and realize that the worst hurt came not from killing people, but from caring about people.

Natasha had been prepared for anything that could go wrong during the jailbreak -- not knowing enough about the Raft had made her uneasy, despite her confidence in Steve’s abilities and her own skills. Somehow, though, she had been naive enough to think that if anything _did_ go wrong, it wouldn’t be as bad as Steve rushing back onto the Raft after rescuing Sam and Scott and then returning with an unconscious Clint and a barely responsive Wanda.

Time slows around Natasha, a quiet rush in the eye of the surrounding hurricane that is yelling and barking out orders and preparing to get out of range of the Raft. Despite Clint’s unconscious state, he’s at least breathing, and Natasha comforts herself with that fact while Sam takes over piloting the jet. Steve lays Clint on a pile of blankets that form a makeshift stretcher and Natasha stays by Clint’s side, not letting go of his hand.

“He needs medical attention,” Natasha announces when she notices the bruises on his face and his swelling wrist. She presses her ear to his mouth to discern the shallow breathing indicative of bruised ribs and tries not to think about how long Clint had been in there with his injuries -- if she was responsible for any of them, despite the fact she _had_ pulled her punches on the airport tarmac -- reminding herself that he’s lived through worse, and that he’s survived with more serious ailments.

“We’re going back to Wakanda,” Steve says, and Natasha notices he’s holding a burner phone in his right hand. “We can get him and Wanda help and give them a place to lie low while they recover. It’s the safest place for them to be right now.”

Natasha nods, staring down at Clint again. “What happened?”

Steve sits down next to her, and Natasha notices that his face is paler than usual. “EMP bomb. I put one in the control room to kill the monitors and cover our tracks, and it exploded right near him. Must’ve knocked him out.” Natasha watches as Steve’s shoulders slump. “I should’ve warned him. I thought we would be out of there before anything happened.”

“Even if he knew about it, he wouldn’t have listened,” Natasha says, knowing it’s the truth, as much as it hurts her to say the words out loud. “He wouldn’t have left without Wanda. He’d be the first one to tell you that.”

“I guess.” Steve’s face is still creased in layers of guilt, and Natasha puts her hand on his knee.

“We did good,” she says quietly. “We got them all out. We even got all their gear out.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve rubs his hands together, glancing around the jet. “Hopefully Ross doesn’t notice that his precious inmates are missing for awhile.”

“Hopefully,” Natasha agrees, not wanting to think about that possibility right now. Nothing that had happened had changed the fact that the Accords were still considered valid, so long as the government believed in their use, and at this point she feels like they'll be looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives. Her eyes settle on Wanda, who is curled up in a corner as far away as she can get from everyone else.

“Watch him for a moment,” Natasha as as she reluctantly lets go of Clint's hand and gets up, walking over to Wanda. Wanda doesn’t react when she approaches, and Natasha takes that as an invitation to sit down next to her.

“He fell and hit his head,” Wanda murmurs, her voice so soft Natasha can barely hear her. “When the bomb went off. I saw it happen.”

“We’re going to get him help," Natasha promises as she runs a hand over Wanda's hair. "He'll be okay. He's Clint, remember? He pulls through everything."

Wanda swallows hard. "He was in distress. I do not know everything but he was having bad memories. Like I once did."

 _Loki_ , Natasha thinks instantly, knowing how the accident had probably affected his mind. She pushes the worry out of her mind and threads two fingers through Wanda's hair. "How are you doing?"

“Tired,” Wanda says hoarsely, finally raising her head. Natasha notices the marks on her neck for the first time and her stomach churns in worry and anger.

“Try to rest,” she encourages. “You’re safe now, and we’re going to get you help. No one is going to hurt you anymore.”

Wanda’s eyes fill with tears and she nods, leaning her head back against the jet. Natasha stays next to her until her breathing becomes a little more even, indicating some sort of restless sleep, before returning to Clint’s side.

When they land in Wakanda, Natasha hurries off the jet with a strange feeling of deja vu -- she had been scared then, too, when he took the hit in Sokovia, but less worried he was going to actually die on her, despite the severity of his injury. She accompanies Clint to a closed off room that’s too bright and too clean; she sits silently while he’s wheeled into a large chamber for a CT scan and MRI. A flurry of dark-skinned men in white coats check vitals and assess the injuries that have been sustained at both Leipzig and afterwards, and Natasha watches the whole thing with a feeling of dread and resignation.

“How did it come to this?” she asks out loud after they've taken him away for more tests. She's alone in one of the private rooms, fiddling with the phone she’s keeping herself from using. It wouldn’t do any good to call Laura when there was absolutely nothing she could do about the situation, and Natasha doesn’t think she has the strength to forcibly talk her out of dumping the kids at her mom’s house and getting on a plane. On the other hand, her wife -- _their_ wife -- had a right to know about what had happened, and the more Natasha thinks about how she’s going to tell Laura about Clint’s injuries, the more guilty she feels. She aches to be home in every sense of the word, spending time with the people she can let herself fall apart around.

“You are praying?"

Natasha looks up as T'Challa opens the door, and tries to smile.

"No. I don't exactly pray."

"So you are just thinking, then."

Natasha looks down at the phone in her lap. "I like to be alone with my thoughts."

"In that case, forgive me for interrupting, but I thought you might like something hot.”

Natasha glances up to find T'Challa offering her a steaming cup, and she smiles a little more easily, accepting it with both hands.

“Thank you,” she says gratefully as T’Challa sits down next to her.

“It is not coffee, I am afraid. But my father used to say that the herbal tea is good for calming the mind, and I think that is what you need right now. How is he doing?”

Natasha inhales a breath of heat as she brings the cup to her lips. “They’re working on him.” She swallows down both hot liquid and a lump of pain. “Thank you for letting me bring him here, and for helping him.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Romanoff. I have learned that a good leader does not lead with his head, but with his heart. And I let my anger blind me for too long.” He looks over with an apologetic look. “I am sorry that I told them about what you did at the airport. If I had known what they planned to do with your friends, perhaps I would have made better choices.”

“We all make mistakes,” Natasha says quietly, knowing it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Even if she hadn't let Steve go, it wasn't ever going to stop Ross from locking Clint up. “I know what it looked like, but I didn’t do it for them.”

“There is no need for an apology,” T’Challa answers. “My father was the most important person in the world to me. I would have done anything for him. It is why I was so determined to bring in Barnes after I thought he had killed him. You can hide yourself in plain sight, Miss Romanoff. And you are commendable at doing it. But you only do what you did if you have someone you love in your life.”

“Well." Natasha pauses to drink more tea, slightly unsure of how to respond. "I guess we both have our secrets, then.”

“Indeed,” T’Challa agrees. “I will not ask for yours, after all of this, but I respect whatever they are." He waits for a moment, and then gives her a sideways glance.

“I take it you will not be staying here.”

“No,” Natasha says, shaking her head, almost relieved she doesn’t need to have the conversation. “After he’s recovered enough, we’ll be leaving. I appreciate the offer of being able to make a home here, but this isn’t the place for him.”

T’Challa inclines his head. “I hope it is not because of the lack of coffee.”

Natasha laughs softly. “It’s not that. Although, he would miss his coffee." She sighs quietly. "We need to go home. He has a family, and he needs to be with them. He’s already been away too long.”

"And?" T'Challa prompts. Natasha meets his eyes.

"And, I know how he is. If it was up to him, he would stay here in a second, because it would mean he could run from his injuries. He doesn’t want to face his fears. But I can’t let him do that.”

“So you are not worried that they will come?”

“I am,” Natasha says, taking another sip of tea. “After he was captured, I went to see his family. I hid them in a safe house nearby. I didn’t know if anyone was looking for them...I just had to assume what would be the worst case scenario, and I don’t think I handled my fears very well," she finishes as Laura’s angry face flashes in her mind, a memory that still makes her shudder. “But they’re safe, as far as I know.”

T’Challa puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “You are a brave friend, Miss Romanoff. And a loyal one.”

“I think you’re the first person to call me loyal in a long time,” Natasha says, unable to keep Tony’s words from replaying in her head. “Excuse me.” She gets up and walks down the hall, clutching her cup and turning down another long corridor until she gets to a second room. She’s surprised to find Wanda sitting up in bed when she opens the door, staring blankly out the large open window.

“Hey,” Natasha says softly, knocking as she walks in to announce herself. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Wanda replies, her voice sounding as exhausted as she looks. “But I cannot sleep anymore.”

Natasha nods. “The drugs that you were given will probably take awhile to fully disappear. You might feel the effects for a few more days, so just try to take it easy.” She walks further into the room and Wanda turns to meet Natasha's face, worry and sadness splayed across her features.

“Is he up?”

Natasha puts her cup on the bedside table. “Not yet. The doctors are doing some brain scans. They said…” She trails off, trying to keep her voice steady. “They said that when he fell, he hit his head pretty badly. The head trauma combined with the EMP waves he absorbed from his close proximity to the bomb affected his hearing. We won’t know exactly how much until the test results come back.”

Wanda’s gaze drops to the bed, and her hands shake as they move over the covers. “Can they fix it? His hearing?”

Natasha lets out a long breath. “I don’t know,” she says quietly and Wanda's face crumbles into a miserable mask.

“It is my fault. I could have helped him. I could have even made a protective shield...I could have done something with my powers, the way he had taught me. But I was too scared. I did not want to hurt him and so I let him get hurt.”

“You were also compromised,” Natasha reminds her, suddenly feeling like she’s in the small room of a helicarrier all over again. “You had a cocktail of serious drugs in your system, Wanda. It’s possible that if you _did_ try to use your powers, they wouldn’t have worked properly.”

“Maybe.” Wanda sounds unconvinced. “But I could have at least tried. He would have done that for me. He was hurt and he still came to help me. He would have done that no matter how badly he was injured. He would not leave until I came with him.”

“Wanda…”

“He will say it is his fault,” Wanda continues. “Because of me. He will hate himself. And I will live with that for the rest of my life, like he is living with my brother's death and blaming himself for his sacrifice.”

“Wanda.” Natasha takes her hand, squeezing fingers that are cold and thin. “He won’t blame you. You’re right, he’ll blame himself; I know that as well as you do. But he won’t blame you.” She pauses to let her words sink in. “I’m taking him home, back to the farm, after he recovers," she continues. "You know that you’re welcome to come back with us. Laura would let you stay for as long as you wanted.”

"No," Wanda says sadly. “I cannot be around him or his family, not after all of this. I am sorry. It is...I cannot put any of you in danger.”

Natasha's gut clenches, because she realizes she’s known Wanda’s answer from the moment she walked into the room. “Where will you go, then?”

Wanda shrugs. “I will stay here, for now. Perhaps Captain Rogers needs me for something. After that, I do not know where I will end up. I am good at hiding, though, if it comes to that.”

“You don’t have to hide,” Natasha says, her heart aching at the sight of a girl so determined to shy away from the world. “You can come stay with us.”

“When I am ready,” Wanda responds. “If I am ready. Then I will come to you.”

Natasha nods slowly, running her teeth over her lower lip. “You know that we’ll be worried about you.”

“And you know that I am safe here,” Wanda says. “Perhaps after all of this, it is better for me to be apart from everyone for a little while.”

Natasha opens her mouth to speak again but Wanda silences her by squeezing her hand. “Go to him. He needs you.”

Natasha squeezes her hand back, swallowing down her response -- _he needs you, too_. “Try to get some sleep,” she says softly. “Like you said, you’re safe here.”

“I know.” Wanda turns her gaze back to the window and Natasha lets herself linger for a second longer before she picks up her tea and walks out of the room.

 

***

 

The world is dark and cold. It’s dark and cold like Loki, but it’s not tinted blue. Still, Clint shudders when he feels a breeze against his bare arms, the chilliness skirting along the hair on his skin. As he comes into consciousness, he’s aware of how cold he feels, as if his senses are going into overdrive. It unnerves him, even in his half-conscious state.

He tries to piece together what he can remember, finding there are blank spaces in a head that hurts. That sends him into another panic -- missing time, Loki had missing time -- but then something in his mind settles on the word _prison_ , and, yes, prison. But prison wasn’t that cold, he doesn’t remember it being this cold. He struggles to focus on what else he can remember; there was Cap, breaking him out of a cell -- Scott, Sam -- _Wanda_ \--

He opens his eyes and the world swims before him; a blurry, dizzy mess. Clint closes his eyes again before he becomes sick and tries to breathe through his discomfort. Everything feels heavy, and blurry...

 _Blurry_. The world was sharper when he was in Loki’s mind. Everything was too sharp and too cold. It’s cold here, wherever he is, whoever’s controlling him; but it’s not sharp and it’s not blue, which means it can’t possibly be Loki. He lets that thought calm him and cautiously squints as his pupils and his head adjust to the change in light.

The first thing he notices is that he’s in a small room that’s too pristine and too white. Tall glass windows stretch all the way around him, and he immediately picks up on the smell of antiseptic. It’s a hospital smell, no doubt, too clean and too polished, but the room he’s in is too nice to belong in a hospital. And it’s definitely not a place he knows; it’s not even a recognizable hospital near home, like the one he had been taken to after Budapest.

_When you’re awake, press the red button._

He glances down at the sign propped up next to him, writing he recognizes as Natasha’s, and his brain is too overwhelmed to figure out how Natasha could be here after all of this, since Steve was the one who had come to rescue him. There’s an IV stuck in the back of one of his hands and his other wrist is secured in a soft splint. Clint uses his thumb to fumble for the small plastic orb attached to a string next to his arm. It makes no noise when he presses down on it and he presses it again and again until he’s practically smashing the small device. Why would Natasha give him something that doesn’t work?

It’s that particular moment which makes him realize it’s been too quiet for too long. Clint’s used to waking up after terrible injuries, and he’s used to the feelings that come with returning to consciousness: the pain and the confusion, the discomfort, the guilt or fear. But there are certain things that he’s slowly realizing the absence of, like the fact he’d normally groan or whimper when things hurt, or the creaking of the bed when he tried to move, or the harshness of his own breath echoing in his ears.

_His own breath._

As if to test his theory, he exhales slowly, forcing his throat to emit what he knows is a low and whiny noise Laura would probably roll her eyes at. Nothing changes, and the world continues around him in silence, and Clint is suddenly snapped awake despite the pain; adrenaline and fear forcing him to bolt upright in bed. Pain explodes in his chest and inside his head, and the IV in his hand rips itself out painfully as tries to move. Clint screams, and the fact that he _knows_ he’s screamed and can feel every stab of pain but still not hear anything only exacerbates his panic. He thrashes in bed, desperate to get out, and as he moves his body he becomes vaguely aware that there’s an added weight on his head. It confuses him and disorients him and then he’s falling, pitching forward, the floor coming up to meet his face. He closes his eyes and waits for the impact, surprised when instead of the hard tile, his face smashes into two thin arms.

Natasha slowly guides him upright until he can meet her eyes, which he notices are red and tired. He opens his mouth to ask a question, but words fail him when he realizes that her lips are moving and nothing is coming out. Clint’s heart starts to pound rapidly, building pressure on the pain already growing inside his chest. The fact that he can’t hear himself trying to breathe only sends him into more of a panic and Natasha keeps her hold on him, squeezing his hand in gentle intervals. Once he gets used to the pressure, he gets what she’s doing: in and out, in and out, in and out. A rhythm. Repetition. He tries to breathe each time her palm crushes his and eventually, his need for air lessens, his lungs opening up despite the fact his heart is still beating too rapidly.

Natasha waits another moment and then nods encouragingly, helping him to his feet and putting him back to bed. He notices she doesn’t try to talk again, and isn’t sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. His hand is dripping blood from where the IV has pulled at the skin, a large open gash marking the back of his palm. Natasha reaches for multiple gauze pads and some surgical tape, wrapping the gauze around his skin to stop the bleeding. Then she bends down and pulls out a board, writing on it and turning it around.

_Hi._

He can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry, because something is so very wrong, and this is the first time he’s seen her since jail; since she tried to fight him at the airport; since she left home; and all she can say is _hi_. He swallows against a dry throat and waves listlessly. She takes the board back, writing neatly.

_Can I talk to you about what happened? I know you have questions. I’ll tell you everything. But I need you to promise me you can stay calm while I talk about it._

He nods mutely and she nods back, picking up another board. Somehow, he has a feeling that she’s prepared it in advance, which makes him feel uneasy.

 _An EMP bomb was rigged to go off near where you were standing when you were on the Raft. It knocked you out and you hit your head pretty hard when you fell._ Natasha waits until he stops reading and then points up at his head, and he uses his hand to gingerly touch what he realizes must be some kind of thick wrap. _I was with Steve when he came to rescue you, working the quinjet and the controls. We brought you back to the jet when we realized what happened. I’ve taken you to Wakanda so we can get you medical attention for this and the other injuries you had. That’s where you are now._

He suddenly realizes how much he’s taken for granted even being able to hear his own voice; he’s not entirely dumb, he has enough sense to know he can still talk but it feels awkward and horrible knowing he’ll speak and not hear his own voice. His mind is filled with questions and there are so many things he needs to say or ask, but there’s only one thing he can think of at the moment.

“Wanda?”

He forces out the words and Natasha looks surprised but wipes the board, writing again.

_She’s safe. She’s here with us. There were some pretty significant drugs in her system, but thankfully, nothing that had an effect on her neurologically. She’s sleeping everything off and should make a full recovery._

Clint blinks past tears he can’t control and looks around the room, taking it in for the first time. Everything is chrome and glass, the floors lit by squares of light from where the sun is streaming in. He thinks of Laura, and how Laura always hummed under her breath when she woke up; she’d been doing it since college, since the first time he woke up in her small dorm bed and realized what her quirks were and how much he loved them. He thinks of Natasha, how she always liked to whisper his name when she crawled into their bed; he thinks of all the things he knows and takes comfort in when he’s home: Cooper’s exasperated groans and Lila’s giggles and Nate’s baby coos. He realizes he’d give anything to hear hours of screaming and crying again, just to know he was back to normal. Clint grabs the marker from Natasha’s hand and writes messily, ignoring the pain in his hand.

_Fix it._

Natasha’s lip twitches, her long auburn hair falling over her shoulders as she writes.

 _We’re working on it_.

She presses something into his hand and he looks down in surprise, realizing it’s the arrow necklace he had given her when he had woken up after Budapest. He doesn’t want to ask how she got it -- if it meant Laura was here somehow in Wakanda, or if Natasha had gone home and told her the whole story -- and instead lets his eyes close again. 

Clint passes in and out of dreams that take days or hours. He thinks he’s back at the farm, snuggled into Laura and Natasha’s arms; he jerks awake with pressure on his body expecting to see Lila or Cooper climbing over him but instead is greeted with the dark-skinned hands of nurses fiddling with his bandages and recording their findings on high-tech tablets. Every time he closes his eyes, he clings to the hope that this time will be different, that when he wakes up, everything from the past few days will be nothing more than a bad nightmare.

They remove his headwrap after what he thinks might be a day or maybe two. Natasha is there almost all the time, sometimes staying for hours by his side and sometimes disappearing to places Clint isn’t sure of. He’s not even sure where he _is_ \-- he has enough knowledge to know about Wakanda and where it is logistically in terms of looking at a map, but not being able to pinpoint his location makes him uncomfortable. He’s not sure how many days he spends lying in bed, but when Natasha shows up one morning, he realizes she looks a little better -- her hair has been washed, and it seems like she’s actually slept. He gestures to the board on his bedside table and when Natasha hands it to him, he manages to write in slanted letters.

_Update?_

Natasha looks forlorn as she takes the board, writing.

_Still waiting on test results. I’ll let you know as soon as we hear something. You want to try to get out of bed?_

Clint shrugs. What he really wants is to do is be able to recover normally and not have people baby him the way he’d baby his own children. The bed arches as Natasha hits the controls and moves him into more of a sitting position.

 _Come on_.

Or at least, that’s what he thinks she says. Lip reading. He’s resorting to _lip reading_. Even his six month old baby could communicate better. Clint swings his legs out of bed, trying to at least be smart enough to use the rails for balance.

His first thought about being upright for the first time in days is that he thinks he’s going to be sick. Natasha must understand what the sweat breaking out on his face means, because she grabs a plastic basin while still holding his arm. Clint pushes it away, despite the continuous rolling of his stomach, and tries to stand while the world moves too fast and too quickly. By the time he manages to actually get to his feet, he can barely stand long enough to even register what it feels like. 

Natasha holds onto him steadily and eases him back down into bed. The moment his head hits the pillow, he immediately feels a little better, and he breathes through the pain while Natasha grabs the board and a marker. She's writing so fast, Clint can barely see her hand move.

 _Stupid_ , she writes furiously. _Laura would kill you. I’m going to kill you. You haven’t been out of bed in days. You have a head injury and hearing damage, do you not realize how unstable that makes you?_

The word _unstable_ makes him think of Wanda, and he pushes the board away with a groan that he can’t hear. Natasha gets up, walking to the other side of the room, and Clint sees how tightly her arms are crossed thanks to the way her shirt stretches across her spine. He expects her to leave but when she turns around, she’s holding a phone in her hand. She walks back to the bed and hits a button with a glare, handing it to him. Clint looks at the phone, returning her scathing look with his own -- _you know I can’t hear anything, right?_ \-- and she rolls her eyes and points to the screen. His hands start to shake as he scrolls through what he realizes are a collection of photos of Lila and Cooper and Nate. He stops on one where Cooper is smiling with a half smirk, and suddenly remembers Tony’s words at the Raft; how he had outed his family to the room. He taps Natasha’s leg and she looks up.

_Need to talk._

He forces the words out of his mouth, trying to forget how unnerving it is that he can’t hear himself. Natasha shakes her head, bending over to kiss him. _Later_ , she mouths back when she pulls away. While part of him wants to protest, he’s still dizzy and exhausted from his failed attempt at doing anything other than lying down, and he really doesn’t want to deal with everything that comes with trying to communicate now.

 _Later_. He could trust Natasha, at least, and hope his family was still safe, even if she didn’t know he was worried. _Later_.

 

***

 

Laura stays at the safe house for five days. Lila stops asking about going home after two days, content with the freedom to play and read, while Cooper is more concerned about the specifics of missing school and soccer. Laura placates him as best she can while trying to not alarm him about the situation, given that she knows he’s already aware of how unconventional this whole visit is.

Laura misses the sense of security that comes with being in her own house, the warmth of belonging and memories built into the walls that made everything feel so homey. But she's used to figuring out how to keep herself busy when things take a stressful turn; years of being alone while Natasha and Clint were working have more than prepared her for how to handle her children in cases like these. So Laura fills the days with creative activities and cooking; she visits the small store Natasha had mentioned and tries to instill rituals that remind her of home, like chores and reading and baking. Everything about the house still feels completely foreign, but she tries hard to make the time away at least a little like the vacation Natasha proposed. And while Laura still finds herself feeling angry about Natasha’s actions, she’s also grown to accept that her worry might have at least been well-founded, considering how unsettled she had been thanks to a simple phone call -- and that was _before_ she had known Clint was in jail.

Today’s baking adventure, Laura has decided, is brownies. Cooper and Lila have already licked the bowl of batter clean and Laura’s just finished putting two pans in the oven when she’s startled by a soft knock at the front door. Her head snaps up, her eyes darting to the cabinet opposite the sink where she knows a firearm is stored.

“Coop?” She tries to keep her voice as light as possible as she inclines her head towards where her son and daughter are reading at the table. “Can you take your sister to your room while I clean up?”

Cooper gives his mom a look but thankfully doesn’t do anything except nod, pulling at Lila’s arm. She wrenches it back stubbornly.

“I’m still _reading_!”

“You and Cooper can read together in your rooms while I finish getting the brownies ready,” Laura says as Lila reluctantly slides out of her chair. “I want to make you a surprise. Don’t you want a surprise?”

“Are you making more brownies?”

“Maybe,” Laura responds, trying not to look at the door again. Lila pouts but follows her brother down the hallway. Laura checks on Nathaniel, who is sitting in his playpen and seemingly content for the moment. She opens the cabinet and grabs the gun, sticking the small firearm in the back of her pants, letting her long shirt hide it from view. Then she marches across the room and opens the door.

“Can I..can I help you?”

“Well.” The visitor, an Asian woman with long hair and dark aviators, smiles as she takes off her sunglasses. “I hope so. This is my house, after all.”

Laura blinks, trying to calm her heart, which is still beating too fast at the anticipation of having to defend herself against someone potentially harmful. “You’re --”

“Agent May. Can I come in?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Laura opens the door more widely, allowing May to enter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

May eyes Laura as she locks the door and removes the gun from her jeans. “Don’t worry. I’d hardly think you should expect anyone visiting you here that doesn’t know you. With everything going on, it’s normal for you to feel guarded.”

Laura exhales loudly, nodding. “Can I offer you something to eat? I apologize for not having much here, but we just made some brownies, if you want to wait for a bit. They should be done in about a half an hour.”

May sits down at the table, glancing around the large kitchen. “That’s alright. I won’t be staying long.”

“Oh.” Laura follows her lead, sitting down across from her. “Do you...do you know anything about Clint?”

May shakes her head, and Laura looks at her quizzically.

“So what exactly are you doing here?”

“Visiting my home,” May says, her face remaining impassive. Before Laura can respond, she continues talking. “And checking up on you.”

“I need to be checked up on?” Laura asks, unable to help the bitterness from her voice. May raises an eyebrow.

“No,” she says after a moment. “From what I know about you, you certainly don’t. But I told Barton that I would take care of you, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“You told Clint…” Laura trails off, and leans forward on her elbows. “When?”

“Years ago,” May says dismissively. “When he first came to SHIELD. I made him a promise, of sorts, as his S.O. If he ever got himself in a situation where he was unable to communicate his safety, I would check in and make sure his family was safe. It was a secret he trusted me with, the same way I trusted him with a secret of my own while we worked together. I’m sure you’re aware that agents don’t usually share such personal things about themselves, unless they’re close partners. But it made him a better recruit, in the end, knowing that he could trust someone outside of his family.”

Laura looks down at the table, her cheeks burning. “He never told me.”

“He never should have had to tell you,” May says, her voice gentle. “Especially once Romanoff became his partner and essentially took over that responsibility. But with both of them out of commission, I guess the job falls back to me. At least, for right now. I may give up my houses, but I don’t break my promises.”

Laura manages a quiet laugh, and May leans back in her chair. “Quite honestly, I'm impressed that Clint managed to keep his marriage so successful while he was an agent."

"Because of being away so much?" Laura asks curiously, knowing most people might be offended by the comment. Laura's been around the block with knowing how unconventional her life was, however.

"No," May says. "Because this isn't the type of job that lets you go home at the end of the day. You don't just go to bed and leave everything at the office, if you know what I mean."

 _More than you know_ , Laura thinks wryly. "You underestimate me," she says when she speaks. "It was never easy. So many people look at us and think that we have it all together. That we're the perfect model of what every relationship should be." She thinks of Clint, and of Natasha, and all of their hardships. "They don't know what we went through for so many years...how hard it was for us to work on everything that kept us together."

May regards Laura carefully. "You know, Clint was one of the best recruits I ever had. He was one of the best recruits SHIELD ever had.”

Laura finds herself smiling against her will. “I know. Fury said he recruited him because he had heart.”

“He does,” May replies. “It’s very easy, Laura, in our line of work, to forget how important that is. So many people become SHIELD agents because they have special skills or because they want to make amends. Your husband...all he wanted to do was be a good person and help others.”

Laura feels a swell of love in her chest, a burst of emotion that fills her heart. “I guess I can’t fault him for that, right?”

“Not really.” May reaches into her pocket and Laura tenses out of habit, even though May pulls out nothing except a white business card. “While I’m here, I also wanted to give you this.”

“Matt Murdock?” Laura glances down at the name on the card, turning it over in her hands. “Who is Matt Murdock?”

“A lawyer in New York,” May says. “He’s used to dealing with...well, let’s just say he’s used to dealing with unconventional cases. In any event, if there _are_ repercussions when Clint does get out of the Raft, I wanted you to know there was someone you could call.” She pauses, her lips thinning. “These Sokovia Accords don’t stop with Ross. President Ellis signed off on them, and the government backing is positive enough that they’re not going to go away anytime soon. You should be prepared.” She gets up, pushing back her chair, and Laura stands as well.

“The Accords -- can you still work? Are you in trouble?”

May turns around and runs a hand through long hair. “Your husband isn’t the only one affected by these laws, Laura. I know you know that there’s no more SHIELD, but don’t worry. We’re still finding a way to do our jobs. We just no longer have to hide in the shadows to do it.” She starts walking again, moving towards the door.

“Agent May.”

May stops with a hand on the doorknob, and Laura closes the distance between them.

“If you ever want to stop by our house for a real visit, let me know. We’d be happy to have you.”

May smiles as she puts her sunglasses back on. “I would. Thank you, Laura.”

In another instant, she’s out the door, disappearing so quickly that Laura’s sure she’s performed one of those _Harry Potter_ moves and apparated right out of the house. She closes the door and locks it before walking back to the kitchen to check on the brownies and her baby. Nate makes a noisy squeal when he sees Laura's face appear above him, and she reaches down and tickles the underside of his small jaw.

"I hope you know how much we love you," Laura says, feeling a little calmer now that the possible imminent danger has passed. Nate makes another noise as he waves a fist around, and Laura picks him up, rocking him gently in her arms as she wanders down the hallway. She stops short when she gets to her own bedroom, noticing the light streaming from inside.

“Why are we staying here? Mommy won’t tell me.”

She can hear Lila asking the question in a small voice, her words shaking. Laura peeks around the doorframe and manages to catch Cooper scooting closer to his sister.

“We’re staying here because bad people did bad things.”

“Oh. Do you think daddy is with Auntie Nat right now?”

“Probably,” Cooper says, and Laura’s throat burns. “You know they’re always together. I bet they’re trying to stop the bad people right now so they can come home and spend their vacation here with us.”

Laura can see Lila nod, and she sticks her thumb in her mouth. “Auntie Nat doesn’t get scared. Do you think daddy is scared?”

“Nah,” Cooper replies with such confidence Laura thinks she might cry. “Dad’s not scared of anything. Come on, let’s finish reading.”

Laura steps away from the door, hugging Nate more securely, and suddenly, the house feels a little bit warmer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're taking liberties with EMP bombs being able to destroy hearing, FYI.
> 
> Thank you to gecko for your help with parts of this chapter and thank you to everyone who has commented or supported this fic so far! Your support and enthusiasm means the world to me.


	11. Chapter 11

T'Challa comes to see Natasha unexpectedly, when she's staring out at the grey landscape of Wakanda on the patio of the guest bedroom that's been afforded to her, the ever-present dreary mist that shrouds the building from the prying eyes of enemies seeping into her skin and raising goosebumps along her arm.

“I have something for you,” he says by way of greeting as he walks into the room, holding out both a folder and a box. Natasha takes the folder and skims the reports quickly, then closes it before she can let her mind dwell on what she’s just read. She reaches for the box, opening it slowly and staring at its contents with a heavy heart.

“Will they work?”

“I believe so. While we were examining your friend, we made some scans of his eardrum. These are made with the best technology that Wakanda can offer, and my doctors have tailored them to target the specific loss he is facing. I have no doubt he will be able to hear again the way he is used to.” T’Challa smiles encouragingly. “You will probably not even be able to tell the difference.”

“I’ll be able to tell the difference,” she answers quietly, fingering the devices. They’re small and compact and they look like miniature probes, and even just by glancing at them, Natasha can tell they’ll be able to fit into Clint’s ears in a way that no one _would_ notice them. But Natasha also knows Clint isn’t going to like that his hearing can’t be fixed any other way than with something artificial. It’s better than nothing, though, and Natasha’s still grateful, because she knows the aids he’s being given are better than what even the most advanced doctors could have given him in SHIELD, or back at home.

“Thank you.” She closes the box, rubbing her fingers over the smooth surface and tracing the embossed stamp of the Black Panther. “I mean it.”

T’Challa nods regally. “You are welcome, Miss Romanoff.”

She returns his smile half-heartedly, only letting her facade drop when he closes the door behind her. Natasha puts the box down on top of the manila folder and hugs her arms to her chest, realizing how much she longs for the warmth of the farm -- not just hot chocolate and tea and the comfortable arms of people who love her, but warmth she can’t seem to find in the sharp, tailored edges of the African palace. She retreats to the bed and pulls the covers over her body, trying to find some semblance of coziness. When she realizes the effort is a futile one and that she really doesn't want to be alone after all, she gets up and grabs the folder and box of hearing aids, then takes the elevator two flights down to Clint’s room.

He’s sleeping, which she’s grateful for, since she knows between leaving home and joining up with Cap he probably hasn’t had enough rest -- neither of them had, but in the past few days, Natasha had at least been able to take some time to herself. His ribs were still bound but healing, and most of his surface injuries had started to heal as well, the bruises near his eyes and stitches along his face looking less stark. Despite being able to keep down minimal amounts of food and sit up without much issue, however, the vertigo from his head injury and hearing loss lingered in a way that was almost detrimental. Getting up too fast or moving too quickly still caused him setbacks, and Natasha knew those hindrances were making it hard for him to feel like he could recover easily.

Natasha enters the room quietly, putting the folder of test results on the bedside table. She stares down at his pale face, accentuated by battle marks colored in pink and purple and red, and opens the box, taking out the two small aids. She carefully adjusts them into each of his ears before leaning over to kiss him gently. His goatee, which is quickly growing into a full beard, scratches and tickles against her lips.

“Hey,” she says softly as he opens his eyes, and she can see the surprise and relief that comes with registering the fact that she’s spoken and he can hear her.

“Not gonna try to kill me this time.” His voice is hoarse and laced with anger, but Natasha tries to ignore the tone.

“Never,” she says softly. Clint moves his jaw, wincing at the pain it causes him.

“Am I better?”

“Kind of.” Natasha watches his face as he takes in the information. “We fitted you with hearing aids.”

The glimmer of hope in Clint’s eyes that had been so prominent drops as soon as she says the words. “So, it’s not fixable.”

“Not...you can hear, Clint.” Natasha tries to keep her frustration down as she says the words. “I know it’s not ideal --”

“No,” Clint interrupts. “What you mean is that I can hear when I _use_ these things. If I take them out, if I sleep or shower, if I run out of the house to chase after the kids and forget to bring them somewhere, I’m deaf and damaged and I can’t hear a goddamn thing.”

Natasha tries not to let her emotions show, because she knows Clint’s coping mechanisms like the back of her hand, and she’s been prepared for this reaction since she first found out how bad his injuries were. “You don’t have to rely on aids, you know.” When he looks at her quizzically, she gestures to his hands. “There are dozens of options to help you communicate, especially once you’re home and feel comfortable again. There’s lip reading and also sign language, which we can all learn.”

“We can all learn,” Clint mutters under his breath.

“Yes,” Natasha asserts. “What matters is that you’re alive, Clint. You could’ve been hurt a lot worse in that prison, with that bomb. You’re alive, and Wanda’s alive, and you’re safe, and you can go home --”

“I’m deaf, and I’m a wanted criminal, and Wanda’s screwed up for life thanks to what I made her go through,” Clint spits out, before meeting her eyes again. Natasha takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“The test results came back,” she continues. “If you want to know.” She reaches for the folder she’s placed on his bedside table, opening it and handing it over. Clint looks down and after a few moments of reading, he shoves it away, a defeated look shadowing his face.

“Sensorineural hearing loss.”

Natasha nods. “They did what they could, but there was too much damage from the head trauma and EMP radiation to fix the nerves that were affected. You can’t regain your hearing, but there’s the possibility of surgery down the line. If that’s something you decide you want to try.” She stops, gauging his reaction. “For now, you should be thankful that you’re recovering somewhere that happens to have the best technology in the world. T’Challa didn’t have to help you.”

Clint eyes her warily. “T’Challa. The guy in the black suit? The one that looks like a cat?”

“Yes,” Natasha acknowledges. Clint makes a face.

“I introduced myself to him at the airport. He didn’t seem too interested in getting to know me.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “We were in the middle of a battle, Clint. He probably wasn’t interested because he thought you were going to shoot him.”

“I _did_ shoot him,” Clint says off of her disapproving glare. “What? He took a shot at me! So did you, by the way.”

“I didn’t take a shot at you,” Natasha snaps, her nerves fraying. “I fought you the exact same way I would spar with you. I just put a little more effort into it so no one would think I was playing favorites.”

“Yeah, well. Didn’t exactly work with Wanda,” Clint mutters. Natasha swallows, remembering the conversation that had taken place during the battle.

“Not really, no.” Her eyes find the floor and she realizes after a long moment that they’ve both been sitting in awkward silence for too long. When she looks up again, he’s staring at her curiously.

“Why hasn’t Wanda come to see me?”

“She...she’s been recovering,” Natasha replies, caught off guard at the change in conversation. Clint narrows his eyes, grey-blue pupils becoming dark.

“Bullshit.”

“Clint --”

“Natasha, if you tell me you’re giving me a mark for the swear chart, I’ll rip these aids right out of my ears.”

Natasha looks down at the covers, focusing on the heavy fabric that feels rough against her skin. “She’s keeping her distance for now. She’s worried you’re going to blame her for what happened on the Raft.”

“What?” Clint’s face creases into wrinkles, his scars stretching. “How --”

“Clint, come on. She’s a girl who looks up to you as a father and a mentor. In her eyes, she disappointed you, because she didn’t help you when you did so much for her.”

“That’s not…” Clint trails off helplessly. “That’s not true.”

“No,” Natasha agrees. “It’s not. But you know better than anyone how it feels when you end up taking responsibility for someone else getting hurt."

Clint shoves a palm against his forehead, and Natasha tries not to pay attention to the bandage that hides the still-healing scar from where he’d ripped his IV out of his skin. “I made it all worse. For everyone.”

Natasha laces their fingers together. “You made it _better,_ ” she says gently. “It would be worse if Wanda was still locked up, if she didn’t have you by her side. You were there for her when no one else was. You proved Laura right about why you needed to go back into the field in the first place.”

Clint moves a hand to his ear, letting the pads of his fingers brush over the right bottom lobe. “Does Laura --”

“Not yet,” Natasha says, cutting him off before he can finish his question. “It’s...I didn’t know how to tell her. And I’ve been trying to make sure you were okay. We do things together in this family, right?”

Clint exhales slowly. “Right,” he says a little bitterly. “Then I want to tell her.”

Natasha's breath catches in her chest. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“You just said we do things together,” Clint says, his voice bordering on defensive. “You think I can’t handle it?”

“I didn’t say that. You know I didn’t say that, Clint.” She puts a palm against his cheek, the closest thing to pure intimacy that she’s had with him since he’d been rescued. “You can tell her, okay? But I want to be there. And I want you to tell her before you come home, without the kids around.”

Clint looks like he wants to push back -- Natasha can tell by the way his lips tighten and then release -- but he stays silent as she moves her hand to his hair.

“Is there anything you want right now?”

“A shower would be nice,” Clint says as she threads her fingers through greasy and coarse strands of blondish-brown. Natasha smiles grimly.

“You might have to settle for a bath, at least until your ears heal enough. On the plus side, I get to give you a lot of hand jobs, if you’re up for it.” She lets her lips fold into a coy smile that he doesn’t return and it unnerves her, because it’s too much like his pullback from Loki all over again. Natasha clears her throat quietly. “We're pretty well hidden here when it comes to contacting the outside world, but T’Challa has promised that whatever security clearance we need from Wakanda's channels, we can get. I just...I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay, and you know it,” Clint retorts. Natasha resists the urge to flinch at his tone.

“I do know. But a few days ago, you were unconscious and you could barely stand, Clint. I know Laura’s seen both of us at our worst, but after all we’ve been through, I’d really appreciate not putting her through more. Okay?” She gets up, kissing him lightly, as if the action is a way to soften the blow of her words. “Leave your aids in so you can get used to them. I’m going to see if I can find something to eat.”

“Tasha.”

She stops at the sound of his voice, which has shifted to broken down and tired. The defeated sound -- a resignation of sorts that she knows he’d never use unless his vulnerability got the best of him -- forces her back to the bed.

“Tasha...he told them.”

“Who?” Natasha asks, sitting down again and trying to quell the ball of worry that drops into her stomach, settling there like a dull mass. Part of her realizes she knows what Clint is going to say before he confirms it, and she suddenly feels a dizzying wave of relief that her instincts about moving Laura and the kids hadn't been strictly paranoia.

“Tony. He came to see us at the Raft, before Steve broke us out. He mentioned Laura and the kids. He said it out loud, just like that, for anyone to hear. And I can't stop thinking about it. Nat, what if someone did hear? What if they figured out they could go after our family? I don’t...Nat, I don’t…”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Natasha murmurs, scooting closer on the bed, seeing the way he’s starting to shake and recognizing both the panic and the adrenaline crash his body is experiencing.

“I can’t protect them here. I can’t protect them like this,” Clint continues, his words tight and strained from lack of oxygen. “I can’t --”

“Clint, I need you to breathe. Follow my lead and breathe with me.” She counts to five in her head and loudly inhales and exhales, keeping their eyes locked as he attempts to match his breathing with hers. She doesn’t speak again until his shoulders are no longer tensed and the air is moving more easily in and out of his lungs.

“Listen to me, okay? Laura and the kids are safe.”

Clint shudders again, closing his eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because,” Natasha continues quietly. “I moved them.”

“You…” Clint’s face shifts from worried to puzzled. “Where?”

“Melinda May’s safehouse, in Sattre.” She watches the emotions cycle through Clint’s expression; pain and relief and worry and, Natasha thinks, maybe some hint of betrayal. He swallows hard.

“When? How did you know they were in danger?”

“Right after the fight at the airport. And I didn’t,” she adds. “I had to make a decision based on what I knew, which is that you had been taken by Ross, and these weren’t people who were going to treat you or anyone close to you kindly. I had to assume the worst, so I did. They were my first priority, even before I started to plan with Steve about how to rescue you. Laura and the kids are my family, too, and I was going to do whatever I needed to do in order to protect them. They’re safe, Clint.”

He doesn’t respond and she strokes his cheek, seeing the worry in his eyes that refuses to fade. “Hey, you want me to just stay awhile? I think we could both use the company.”

Clint waves his hand towards the door. “I thought you were going to get food.”

“Food can wait,” Natasha decides, hoisting herself onto the bed, being careful of his still-healing injuries. “We’ve got time. And I haven’t been able to cuddle with you for way too long.”

“Right,” Clint says tonelessly. “And you’re not worried Cap’s gonna walk in and see us in bed together?”

Natasha shrugs. “It’s a big place. I highly doubt he’s wandering the hospital wing and poking his nose into recovery rooms when he has better things to do. Anyway, you know he’s already seen us in bed together. At this point, it might be fun to fuck with him even more. _Crap_.” She wrinkles her nose and pulls out her phone, making a note. Clint glances over and snorts when he realizes what she’s writing.

“You’re _seriously_ still keeping track?”

“Well, I was bored while I was waiting for you to do more than sleep,” she answers. “Besides, if you're really out of commission for awhile, someone _else_ might actually buy the coffee for once. I’m sure Laura’s sworn a lot in front of the kids, with us both gone.”

Clint forces out a small laugh. “Right. You know, I never thought I’d miss buying coffee because I can’t control my mouth.”

“You’d be surprised at what you miss when you’re away from home,” Natasha says pointedly, curling up closer to him. “You know I’ll always stay, right? No matter what? You know that we have each other's back?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “As long as you’re not gonna try to kill me.” Natasha notices that his voice harbors the same undercurrent of danger she had heard when he first woke up, and tries to push it out of her mind as she nuzzles against him, attempting to find the warmth she’s so desperately been craving, the comfort she can’t seem to find on her own.

“Never.”

 

***

 

It takes Laura longer than usual to feel comfortable after she returns home to the farm. Cooper and Lila are slow to settle back into their routines and even Nate seems unnerved, crying more than usual and waking up more frequently during the night. The house feels different, and not just because Clint and Natasha are still away. Her skin crawls with apprehension at every wind chime and door knock and fallen pot that Nate pulls out of the cupboard, and it unsettles her, because she hates feeling like this in a place that's always been so cozy and so far removed from all the dangers Clint and Natasha faced in their line of work.

 _It's almost violating_ , she realizes as she unpacks her suitcase after finally putting Cooper and Lila to sleep. Her stomach clenches angrily, though she’s not sure whether she’s angry at the situation or angry at herself for letting things get to her so easily. Laura walks to the window and rests her head against the cold glass, focusing on the fall foliage and clementine-colored sky. She finds herself remembering the stories Clint had told Lila about why the sky changed colors at night, memories that weren't that old that feel like they happened years ago -- _fairies painting before bedtime, just like you play with your toys before bedtime_  Clint had explained to his daughter, while Laura looked on with Natasha stroking her hair, rocking a sleeping Nathaniel.

She shakes off the worry as best she can and does the usual things she would do if she had stayed away from home for too long -- she calls her mom, she grocery shops, she gets her nails done. She visits Cooper and Lila’s schools and talks to their teachers about the impromptu days off, apologizing for their absences, picking up homework, and citing the vacation as a family emergency -- not entirely a lie, she figures, all things considered. A week after she’s returned home, she drops Lila and Nate off with her mom and drives into town to pick up Cooper from soccer practice. As she navigates through the heavy traffic that comes with after school hours, she tries not to think about how long it’s been since Natasha had left to rescue Clint.

 _No news is good news_ , she reminds herself as she parks the car at the edge of the playing field, rolling down the window to let cold air into the minivan. She’d truthfully gotten spoiled by Natasha and Clint’s check-ins; they had been calling home more than they usually did and knowing how dangerous their current situation was only made Laura feel more nervous.

“Laura!” A beaming face in a blue knit cap appears outside her window, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I haven’t seen you out here in ages.”

“Clint’s usually doing the afternoon pick-ups,” Laura admits, lowering her window further. “How are you, Janet?”

“Oh, you know.” Janet waves her hand around, letting it come to rest on what Laura notices is a barely-there baby bump concealed by a thick coat. “Trying to deal with life without coffee, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ve been there three times,” Laura confirms, reaching as much as she can out the window to hug her friend loosely. “Congratulations. Does Scott know?”

“Not yet.” Janet pulls away and nods towards the field. “He’s been sick for most of this week, and all he could talk about was missing practice. I wish he cared this much about school, you know? I can't even get him to look at his English homework...anyway, Seth and I are probably going to tell him this weekend.” She leans forward, eyes searching the car, as if she needs to be sure Laura’s alone. “Where is Clint, anyway?”

“Working.” Laura pastes a smile onto her face; it’s gotten easier over the years to lie about Clint's work even when she knows he might be in trouble, but she still hates doing it. “He got called away last minute and couldn’t turn the job down.”

“Ah.” Janet nods sagely. “I know that feeling.”

 _I bet you don’t_ , Laura thinks, realizing how long it’s been since she’s felt like she was in a different league when it came to everyone else in her small town, and not just because of her unconventional relationship. “What can you do? It means I get to play soccer mom for a little while, I guess.”

“ _There’s_ a perk.” Janet looks up as a host of middle schoolers spill out from the field, and waves freely towards a skinny, flaming haired child. “Let’s hope my spawn is tired enough that he doesn’t mind me stopping for groceries on the way home. See you next week at the Town Hall meeting?”

Laura nods. “Of course.” She leans over to kiss Janet on the cheek, suddenly missing Natasha, and pulls herself back into mom mode as Cooper tugs the door of the minivan open.

“Hey, kiddo.” She smiles as Cooper flops down in the front seat and immediately fiddles with the radio, switching the station from soft jazz to current hits. “How was practice?”

“Good.” Cooper shoves his bag between his knees. “Can we go get ice cream?”

Laura raises an eyebrow, noting his wind-swept hair and dirty uniform. “Really, Coop? That wasn’t even good negotiating. I know Natasha has taught you better than that. I know _dad_ has taught you better than that.”

“Come on, mom.” Cooper gives her a look as she pulls away from the field. “We haven’t been able to do anything fun because of that weird vacation thing for dad, and he always takes me for ice cream after practice.”

“News to me,” Laura mutters, only slightly annoyed at the fact that Clint has apparently been taking his retirement a little _too_ seriously. She reminds herself to add "yell at husband about unnecessary treats during the day" to the list of things she wants to talk to Clint about when he finally comes home.

“Mom? Please?”

Laura sighs loudly. “Alright,” she relents, flicking on her blinker and preparing to turn onto the road that leads to town instead of the road that leads back towards the farm. “But no bragging to your sister about how you got ice cream because mom was feeling generous, okay?”

Cooper shrugs. “Lila’s with grandma and grandpa, and grandma lets her eat all the good stuff anyway.” He pauses, looking out the window, and then turns his head again. “Hey, mom? Can I ask you a question?”

Laura blinks quickly. “Of course. Is it about dad?”

“No,” Cooper says, shaking his head. “It’s, uh. It’s about Aunt Nat.”

“Okay.” Laura’s stomach flips, for a reason she’s not sure of. Cooper had been well aware of their relationship ever since earlier in the year, when they had sat him down and explained how exactly Natasha fit into their lives. Aside from a few more serious things, there wasn’t a lot he _didn’t_ know about all three of his parents.

“So, you married dad when you met him because you loved him, right?”

“I married your dad because I loved him, yes,” Laura acknowledges. “But also because I liked spending time with him and he made me happy, and he cared about me. We had a lot in common, and I knew he would be a good partner.”

“And then you met Nat through dad, right?”

“I did,” Laura says slowly, wondering where Cooper is going with his questions. “Dad and Nat started working together around the time that you were born. She started coming to the house and spending time with us a lot, you know that.”

“I know. So I guess, um. How did you know when you loved Aunt Nat?”

“Oh.” Laura tightens her fingers around the steering wheel as she switches lanes. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her son’s cheeks coloring, a faint blush spreading across the lower half of his face. “Well.” She takes a breath and then lets it out slowly, trying to parse her response in a way that doesn’t sound complicated. “I guess one day I just realized that Natasha made me happy the same way that dad did. Love isn’t something you can plan for, Coop. Knowing I was in love with Natasha, that's something that didn’t happen overnight. I spent time with her and I got to know her, the same way I did with dad. It took longer than you probably remember.”

“Okay.” Cooper nods. “And after you loved her did you know that you had to, like, share her and stuff with dad?”

Laura slows to a stop at a red light, glancing at her son quizzically. “Where is all this coming from, Coop?”

“Nowhere. I just…” Cooper looks down at his hands. “Ever since we went away from home, I realized I missed Nat a lot. And you never really explained to me how Nat became my mom. I know she’s always been there, but I know she didn’t, like, make me the way you said people make babies because you didn’t know her when I was born...I dunno what to tell people at school when they ask about her.”

“You tell people what you feel comfortable telling people,” Laura says, trying to work through all of Cooper’s words and dissect them while responding at the same time. “If you don’t want to say that you have two moms, then you don’t have to. The same way you don’t tell people dad’s an Avenger, unless you really want to. You don’t owe anyone anything about your life, Coop. Remember that.” She takes a closer look at her son before she steps on the gas pedal again. “Have people been asking you things about Natasha that make you uncomfortable?”

Cooper hesitates. “Kind of. I mean, they weren't mean about it, but Josh asked today about why I went away. I told them dad had some work thing, which is what you told me to say, and then he asked why I had a dad when he already knew I had two moms, cause, like, Nat’s been to my games and stuff and I’ve called her my mom before. He said I was weird. I dunno. I like having Nat as my mom. I mean, I’m really glad she’s my mom cause I love her and stuff, but what if…” He stops talking and Laura's brows knit together in concern, her head spinning with possible endings to his sentence.

“What if what, Coop?”

Cooper’s voice trembles when he speaks again. “What if sometimes I love her _more_ than you?”

Laura’s heart aches inside her chest and she turns the car onto another main road, staying silent until they’ve parked alongside the curb a few yards away from where the ice cream shop is located. She unbuckles her seatbelt so that she can turn around easily, running her fingers over his face. “Coop, I love you. I will _always_ love you. Remember what we always say to each other?”

“I love you forever, I like you like always,” Cooper recites, almost methodically. “I know. I’m not five anymore, mom.”

“I know you’re not,” Laura says as the pang in her chest intensifies. “But what we tell you all the time is the truth. Natasha loves you, and dad loves you, and I love you. And I’m never going to be mad if you love Natasha a little bit more. She’s your mother, and she’s more than earned her love from you. Especially since you want to be like her, right? I mean, you couldn’t _possibly_ want to teach boring things like chemistry when you could be a super spy.”

Cooper smiles a little bit, looking relieved, like a weight has been taken off his shoulders. Laura suspects it has been, and wonders how long Cooper’s been mulling over his questions without being able to muster up the courage to ask them out loud.

“I just...I don’t want anything to be my fault,” Cooper continues hesitantly. “I told dad he loved Aunt Nat more than he loved you, and he got angry, and then he went away to be with her. And now he’s in trouble cause he went to Aunt Nat and maybe if I didn’t push him, he wouldn’t have been there. He would’ve come home after he finished helping Wanda, right?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Laura pulls her son close, hugging him tightly over the cupholder and ignoring the fact that maybe her son doesn’t want the same affection he always seemed to crave when he was younger. “Cooper, listen to me. Your dad loves you more than you can imagine. What happened to dad wasn’t your fault. You had _nothing_ to do with what dad got caught up with. He was going to go away and help Wanda and Aunt Nat no matter what you said. And you know how dad’s job is, Avenger or not. Sometimes, things happen that you can't predict. That’s why we have the no promises rule, right?”

“But I made him mad,” Cooper says miserably. “And now he’s still not home. And we had to move because we were in trouble. What if I made that happen?”

Laura brushes a hand over his hair. “You didn't do anything that put this family in danger," she says softly. "I know dad’s job is never going to be easy. Not for me, not for Natasha, not for you or your sister or your brother, when he's old enough to understand all of this. But you’re not at fault for anything that happens." Laura kisses her son’s head and smiles when he doesn't pull away. “You’re a lot like Aunt Nat, you know that?”

“Even though she wasn’t there when I was born?”

Laura nods and Cooper reluctantly straightens up. “Dad said I’m sneaky like Aunt Nat.”

Laura's smile grows bigger. “You are. So is your sister. But you have a lot of Aunt Nat in you in other ways. I’ve noticed it the more you’ve grown up. Lila, too."

Cooper looks suddenly interested. “So I’ll get more things from Aunt Nat?”

“Possibly,” Laura says with a wink. “Do you _want_ more stuff from Aunt Nat?”

“You said I could dye my hair whatever color I wanted as long as I didn’t make you crazy,” Cooper offers, and Laura groans.

“I can’t believe you even _remember_ that conversation. You were four. And you had a broken leg.” She shoves her son’s shoulder playfully as he grins. “Don’t push it, kiddo. You’re already getting ice cream before dinner.”

Cooper rolls his eyes, but his brown pupils look a little brighter. “Thanks, mom. Don’t...don’t tell Lila or grandma I got all worried? I still wanna do that whole grown-up thing.”

Laura opens her mouth to respond, interrupted by the harsh vibration of her cell phone buzzing against her thigh. She quickly slides it out, glancing at the text, and works her fingers over the keys.

“Mom?”

Laura swallows down a lump in her throat and shoves the phone back into her pocket as it buzzes again. “Not a word to your sister or grandma,” she promises, hoping she sounds normal enough for Cooper not to become suspicious. He gives her a look.

“Swear?”

“Yes,” Laura says firmly. “Swear. I know it's been awhile since I was a kid, but I know how to keep secrets.” She nods towards the window. “Come on. You wanted ice cream, right?”

Cooper nods enthusiastically and opens the door, getting out of the car. Laura takes advantage of the moment alone to look at her phone again.

God, it was always so much worse when she didn’t know details, especially when she knew enough to assume the worst. Laura tries not to think about what Natasha’s words might mean, reminding herself that she had Clint, and that he was safe. And she would have said something more if things weren't okay, right?

 _Right_ , Laura convinces herself, trying to calm her nerves. When she gets out of the car, she puts on her most optimistic smile as she points Cooper in the direction of the ice cream shop.

 

***

 

The day that Natasha works up the courage and the mental strength to allow Clint to call Laura, she calms her own anxiety by doing some abbreviated yoga at the foot of his bed while he naps. By the time Clint’s yawned himself awake and fumbled for the hearing aids lying on the bedside table, she’s sitting cross legged on the floor in the middle of deep breathing exercises.

“I hate these things,” he says, wincing in discomfort as he adjusts the volume on one of his aids. Natasha shrugs, keeping her breaths steady on exhale.

“You’re welcome to be deaf and use sign language and lip reading,” she reminds him unapologetically. Clint grunts.

“Shut up.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Tell me to shut up one more time and we won’t call Laura today after all.”

Clint eyes her as she gets up with one last stretch. “Can’t remember the last time you did yoga,” he says icily. Natasha glares at him.

“Only all the time at the farm,” she says, pulling her hair back. “It’s good to relieve stress, you know.”

“Yeah, well, so is coffee. And I’d kill for some coffee right now. This is the longest I’ve gone without caffeine in days.”

“I’m surprised you’re still functioning, to be honest.” She cracks a small smile as she hands him a cup of apple juice and he makes a face as he sticks the straw into his mouth. “You know the drill. Your body’s still recovering from trauma and malnourishment. The faster you can stomach clear liquids, the faster you can get back to real foods and real drinks. Like caffeine.”

"Look, I haven't puked in two days," he protests, though Natasha notices it looks like he's trying to keep the juice down. He does, and so she lets him continue to suck on the straw.

"Doesn't matter. Your body will tell you when it's ready to be a human again, and right now, it's still recovering." She takes the cup from him as he finishes drinking. "You sure you still want to do this?”

“Yes,” Clint says instantly. "I want to talk to Laura."

Natasha searches his face carefully, and then nods slowly. "I know. Come on.” She tugs the covers off of his body, helping him sit up, and then guides him out of bed and into one of the hard hospital-like chairs. Clint closes his eyes, breathing heavily, and Natasha immediately drops down in the seat next to him.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, taking a deep, long breath. “I think. Still get dizzy.”

“You’re going to have to get used to feeling a little off center,” Natasha says quietly. “You have to get used to wearing the aids, and they’re going to make you feel a little unbalanced. Your head injury still has to finish healing. You have post-traumatic stress from your situation, and also post-traumatic vertigo that could come and go at any moment, and if you were in a real doctor’s office, they’d tell you to take it easy and not do any physical activity for at least two months. You’re not nearly one hundred percent, you’re just a hell of a lot better than when we got you off the Raft.”

Clint snorts. “Great. Anything else, doctor Romanoff?”

“Yes,” Natasha says, ignoring his sarcastic tone. “I love you.” She picks up an iPad from inside her bag and then lays it on her lap. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Clint responds, his voice wavering with an uncertainty that’s almost undetectable. Natasha kisses him on the cheek and then taps the screen, unlocking the device and pulling up a dial pad. She types in a code and a long string of letters and numbers, and then waits until the call is picked up.

"This is Agent Romanoff at the request of King T'Challa, accessing direct network bypass to civilian land lines. Location is United States, Iowa."

"Authority confirmed, Miss Romanoff," responds a thickly accented voice on the other end of the line. "Please hold."

There's a beep as the call ends and then another beep a few seconds later. Natasha pulls up the dial pad again and types in the number for the farm, barely breathing as the screen freezes and then connects, a blurry visual of Laura’s face appearing. After another moment of the network stabilizing itself, the connection is sharpened, and Natasha raises the iPad to her face so she can see Laura more clearly.

“Natasha.”

Natasha can’t help the instant smile, every bone in her body aching painfully at the sight of Laura, calm and whole, wet hair curling around her face, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes travel the screen and settle on the window behind the couch Laura’s sitting on, sunlight streaming down on what must be Lila’s latest batch of drawings piled on top of finger paintings and old baby books and a new potted plant. She takes a deep breath and thinks if she imagines hard enough, she can smell the freshly cut grass and the strong aroma of coffee, baked bread, and oven-warmed sweet potato pie.

“You’re alone?”

“The kids left for school a few hours ago,” Laura confirms softly. “How are you? How...are you okay?”

“I’m safe. We’re safe,” Natasha promises, though she’s still not sure how optimistic she feels about those last words. Laura sucks in a breath and nods.

“Wanda?”

“She’s safe, too. We’re all in Wakanda right now.”

“Wakanda?” The crease of confusion in Laura’s brow widens as her voice rises in worry. “Where is Wakanda?”

“The technical answer is Africa, somewhere by the borders of Ethiopia, Uganda, South Sudan and Kenya. The easier answer is far away from anyone that could come look for us,” Natasha answers. “It was the safest place for us to go knowing that Ross might be trying to find us after the jailbreak.” She leans forward and traces a finger over the screen, wishing she could touch Laura’s face for real. “And it was the safest place for us to get everyone help.”

Laura nods slowly. “Clint?”

Natasha moves the iPad until Clint can grab it. He raises it as much as he can, though she notices he’s careful to keep the angle of the screen from tilting too much, where it might show his aids. She can see him visibly reacting as he takes in his first look of the farm, of Laura, of the life he's left behind, and Natasha finds tears springing to her eyes. It’s different than Loki, when he wanted to shy away; Natasha knows this because she can see it in his face. Clint was still terrified of facing what he now had to deal with, that much she knew, but she can also tell that unlike a few years ago, when he was so desperate to run, he  _wants_ to be home.

“Hi,” Laura says, her voice shattering. Natasha watches Clint compose himself as her voice bleeds through the screen.

“Hi. How are you doing?”

“Well, I’m constantly living in fear of someone coming to take our children,” Laura says, and Natasha can tell she’s trying to break the awkward mood, as true as the words might be. “But I think Lila might be able to give any intruders a run for their money with her negotiation tactics, if Nate's screaming doesn't scare them away. I’m also regretting my decision to let you go help other people.” She stops to compose herself. “It’s good to see your face.”

“Yeah,” Clint says in a low voice. “Nat said she moved you guys.”

“She did. We stayed in Sattre for almost a week. It’s…” Laura looks down, tucking wet hair behind her ear. “Cooper was excited about missing school for awhile, go figure. Apparently I didn’t raise an education lover like me. I don’t know if we should’ve stayed away longer, but I was told we weren’t in any immediate danger for now, and I wanted to come home. How are you?”

Clint snorts out a quiet laugh, flinching at the pain it causes his ribs. “Retirement was better,” he says, and Laura forces her lips upward.

“Injuries?”

Clint gestures to his chest area. “Bruised ribs, sprained wrist and a minor concussion. Also dehydration and stuff,” he adds as Laura pulls a handful of wet hair over one shoulder.

“Well. That doesn’t sound so bad for someone who was stuck in prison.”

Natasha can almost see Clint becoming sick, the paleness in his face accentuated by thick beads of sweat dotting his matted hairline. She’s about to step in and take the iPad from him before he loses it completely when he speaks again.

“I lost my hearing.”

Natasha’s not sure what’s worse -- Clint’s voice cracking in an emotion she's only ever associated with his kids being in danger, or Laura pulling the screen of the laptop closer in what Natasha realizes is a heartbreaking effort to touch him.

“What do you mean, you lost your hearing?”

“Something happened in the Raft. When we were getting out. There was an EMP bomb, I hit my head --”

“But you...you can hear me,” Laura breaks in, as if she’s trying to look for a desperate loophole in his words. “I don’t understand.”

“Hearing aids,” Clint says, his voice shaking again. He points to his ears. “But without them, I’m...I can’t…” Natasha watches him trail off and her eyes move to Laura, who is biting her bottom lip firmly in an effort to keep from crying.

“It’s going to be okay,” Natasha says, even though the words seem empty and broken, especially since she's speaking to a computer screen. “Once we can go home, we'll figure everything out. Like we always do. It’s going to be okay.” She moves her chair closer to Clint. “This wasn’t the way we wanted to tell you, Laura. But I wanted you to know before we came home, so we could figure out what to tell the kids and be prepared for their reactions.”

“What do we tell the kids?” Laura murmurs, rubbing a hand across her forehead. “ _How_ do we tell the kids? Cooper's already worried to death about you, Clint. And Lila keeps asking when you guys are coming home.”

“We’ll figure that out," Natasha assures, choosing not to look Clint for the moment. "Together. It’s going to suck, Laura. I know. But we’re alive, right? That’s what matters. You know what you always say.”

“I’d rather see you hurt and be able to patch you up than have you both dead,” Laura says softly, and Natasha wishes more than anything she could take Clint and Laura into her arms. It was so much harder to do this when she had been away for too long.

 _I don’t blame Clint for hating when he had to be away from home_ , she thinks, wondering at what point she became the person who felt too much for a farm in the middle of nowhere.

Laura clears her throat quietly in the silence that follows. “If you’re up for it, there’s someone who wants to say hi to you.” She leans out of frame and when she straightens up, she’s holding a plump faced Nate in her arms.

“Da!” Nate squeals, reaching his arm out, his dark brown eyes widening. Clint reaches back, almost dropping the iPad in his haste to connect with his son.

“Hey...hey, little man. Daddy’s here. Daddy missed you so much.”

“He’s about to go down for a nap, but I thought...if you had the time...maybe you could read to him,” Laura finishes hesitantly. “It’s been awhile.”

"Yeah." Clint puts another finger on the screen, and Nate mimics his action with a tiny thumb that stabs at Clint’s face. Laura hums under her breath, kissing one side of Nate’s plump cheek.

“I love your happy side, your sad side, your silly side, your mad side.” Natasha leans forward as Clint joins in, his low baritone mingling with Laura's gentle alto. “I love your fingers and toes, your ears and nose. I love your hair and eyes, your giggles and cries. I love you running and walking, silent and talking. I love you through and through...yesterday, today and tomorrow, too.” Clint finishes talking as Laura rocks forward and backward, adjusting the baby in her arms. Nate yawns, stretching his small mouth into a vertical slit, snuggling into Laura’s grip. 

“And I love you,” Laura finishes softly. “Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Come home.”

“Soon,” Clint says just as softly. “Tell the kids I’m okay. I mean, if you want. If they've been worried.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Laura puts her palm against the screen. “Love you, Nat.”

“Love you too.” Natasha kisses the inside of her fingers and presses them to the iPad as the call drops. She takes the iPad from Clint's hands, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“You okay?”

"Fine," Clint answers, and even though Natasha knows the answer is a blatant lie, she decides to let it go. He’s been through more than enough emotional turmoil for one day.

“Tasha.”

Natasha looks up at the endearment, finding that he’s looking at her with tears in his eyes.

“Yes?"

Clint takes a deep breath. "When can we go home?”

Natasha stares at him for a long time, attempting to gather her words. “Whenever you want.”

Clint frowns. “That wasn’t the answer you gave me before.”

“No,” Natasha says, looking down at her hands. “It wasn’t. But this needs to be your decision, Clint. You know what you’re going to have to deal with, and what you’re going to have to face with your disability.”

“It’s not --”

“It’s a disability,” Natasha continues firmly. "That doesn't make you damaged and that doesn't make you inadequate. It's just what you have to learn to accept about yourself. And you can’t hide from everyone the same way you hid after Loki. You can have trouble adjusting, but you can’t ignore your kids, and you can’t ignore me, and you can’t ignore Laura. You need to be there for them.”

Clint rubs a hand against the scars on his chin. “And you’re not going to let me run.”

“No.” Natasha folds her arms over her chest. “I’m not. You’re going home to be with your family, Clint. But I’m not going to force you. So when you want to leave Wakanda, you tell me. We do it together. We go home together, the way we told Laura we would come home. When you tell me you’re ready. Okay?”

Clint nods and takes her hand, and Natasha fights to keep her tears at bay.

“Yes ma'am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh team, I am SO SORRY it took me so long to update. From both a personal and mental standpoint, the past few weeks haven't been kind to my brain and have left me little allowance to be creative. It didn't help that this chapter gave me a lot of pushback for some reason, so even though I had an outline, writing it took longer than usual. I swear I am writing regularly and plan to try to keep my bi-weekly updates until this finishes.
> 
> Thank you SO much for reading and commenting and sharing, it really means the world to me and I'm so glad you're all enjoying this story. The response to this series and this fic in general has been overwhelming, especially in the wake of the MCU not giving us much from the farm in Civil War. I promise the next update won't take so long (and reuniting happens soon! Like, really soon!) In the meantime, feel free to yell at me on [tumblr](http://isjustprogress.tumblr.com). :)


	12. Chapter 12

As much as Natasha hadn’t particularly enjoyed watching the emotional breakdown that came with Clint having to tell Laura about his injuries, she’s glad she gave in and let him call. Seeing and speaking to Laura for the first time in weeks seems to soothe him, and Natasha knows the call has had the same affect on her. She still worried about the family's well-being -- she doesn’t think she’s ever allowed herself to be so vulnerable and worried before -- but she reminds herself that Laura is more than capable of being on her own.

The day after Clint calls Laura, Natasha’s sitting in Clint's room, having fallen asleep after letting herself become too comfortable with her feet up on his bed. She’s jarred by a swift kick that knocks her right foot away, and Natasha rolls upward in the chair as another kick comes. She rubs sleep out of her eyes before her ears register the sounds coming from the bed.

It’s the movement that makes her heart leap into her throat more than the sounds; Clint’s twisting in the covers uncomfortably, what Natasha can tell is clearly some sort of too-vivid nightmare. She swallows down the memory that tries to push itself through her brain and leans over, trying to pin his arms down.

“Clint.” She angles her mouth towards his ear, just in case, and then digs her fingers into his skin. “Clint!”

He continues to twitch, and then one hand reaches up to claw at Natasha viciously. She twists out of the way as his nails leave red marks down the underside of her arm.

“ _Clint_!”

Natasha manages to get his arms down again, and it’s only when she turns her head that she notices the hearing aids on the bedside table. “ _Fuck_ ,” she mutters under her breath, her heart racing. If he couldn’t hear and was moving way too much to register her touch, it was going to be that much harder to get him to come out of whatever nightmare was taking hold of his brain.

“Find Wanda Maximoff,” Natasha barks as the door opens, a dark-skinned nurse rushing in, no doubt alerted by the commotion Clint’s causing. When Natasha gets a blank stare in return, she repeats her words forcefully.

“ _Wanda Maximoff_. Find her, now.”

The nurse walks quickly out of the room, and Natasha leans forward, trying to hold Clint’s arms down again so that he doesn’t hurt himself further.

“Come on, Clint...work with me,” she mutters through gritted teeth. For a brief moment, she’s thankful that Laura doesn’t have to see this, as much as she’s seen versions of it from both of them over the years. Natasha’s more worried he’s going to hurt himself more than he’ll hurt her; Clint’s strength in his sleep was as great as hers was -- which meant he could easily re-open his injuries. At the very least, he could set off more vertigo spells if he was too rough with his movements, not to mention damage the work that Wakanda’s doctors had done to his ears.

“Oh my god. What is going on?”

“Wanda.” Natasha manages to turn around at the small, terrified voice that breaks into her thoughts. “You need to help him.”

“No,” Wanda says, her voice barely audible from across the room. “I cannot.”

“Wanda, listen to me. He can’t hear anything, and he can’t wake up because he doesn’t know I’m trying to help him,” Natasha says, her panic unfurling. “You need to get into his mind and calm him down so I can help him, and you’re the only one who can do this. If you don’t, he’s going to hurt himself further.”

Wanda’s face pales as Natasha talks, but she nods slowly, moving towards the bed. When she’s standing next to Clint’s side, she reaches out with one trembling hand and exhales slowly, letting red energy flow from her fingers. The tendrils of fire snake through the air and twist downward, disappearing into Clint’s hair. Natasha watches as Clint stops moving, his legs and arms relaxing, though the contorted look of pain on his face remains. Wanda drops her hands, tears streaking down her face, and Natasha tries to ignore them as she grabs for one of his hearing aids, putting it in.

“Hey,” she whispers, stroking his cheek, her fingers losing themselves in his thick beard. “Hey, come on, it’s me. You’re okay. Wake up, Clint. It’s okay.”

Clint’s breathing quickens and then he opens his eyes slowly, his pupils enlarged, frightened and confused. “Tasha?”

“Hey,” Natasha repeats, keeping her hand on his face, only vaguely aware of the fact that Wanda is backing away, as if she needs to get out of his space before he realizes she’s there. “It’s me, Clint. You know where you are? Who I am?”

Clint nods slowly, his eyes focusing on her face. “Can’t hear,” he mumbles and Natasha quickly reaches for the other hearing aid, helping him adjust it into his other ear.

“Better?”

Clint nods and then sits up slowly, his hands gripping the rails of the bed to stop himself from swaying. Natasha watches as he squeezes his eyes shut, and counts along with him in his head.

_One...two...three...four...five._

She breathes in and out with him and when he opens his eyes, he’s still shaking, but his face has color again. She inches forward on the bed. “How’s your head?”

Clint squints again. “Hurts. I hate this.”

Natasha kisses his forehead. “I know you do. But it’s going to get better.” She bites back on the words _I promise_ , knowing they’ll be thrown in her face.

“If I was home, Laura would give me gin.”

“No,” Natasha corrects gently. “If you were home, Laura would give you tea. _We_ would be drinking gin. Mostly to relieve our stress.” She runs a hand through his hair. “You wanna talk about it? Your dream?”

Clint swallows heavily. “I couldn’t get him out of my head.”

Natasha instantly remembers about what Wanda had told her when Clint had been hit with the EMP radiation on the Raft. “Loki?”

“No,” Clint says hoarsely. “Not this time.” He bites down on his lip. “Ross. He was in the house. I opened the door and he was just standing there with his gun, and he shot everyone. Right there in front of me. I tried to fight him and I couldn’t...I was the only one he didn’t kill.”

“Laura’s safe,” Natasha promises, though she knows her words provide little comfort. Clint wouldn’t feel entirely convinced about that until he could confirm it for himself. “Cooper and Lila and Nate are safe. We spoke to Laura, remember?”

“But you weren’t _there_ , Nat. You didn’t hear what Tony said. The way he said it.” Clint swallows hard. “What if they heard something, and now they’re retaliating, because you broke us out? I know Laura’s not anywhere on SHIELD’s record, but this isn’t SHIELD. This is the government. Who knows what they have access to?”

“Clint --”

“They’d go after Laura, you said it yourself,” he continues. “It doesn’t have to be a shooting. It could be a car crash, or a gas leak, or...or…”

“Clint, did you ever talk to Ross?” Natasha asks as he trails off. Clint shakes his head slowly.

“I only saw him briefly. Right before I was taken to the Raft, before they took Wanda and I got knocked out. Kind of surprised, I guess...thought he’d want to really interrogate us about why the hell we didn’t sign those damn Accords. Why?”

“Because I did,” says Natasha. “More than once. And he's someone that’s not going to play by the rules, which I think you know.”

Clint eyes her. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that he probably has unorthodox ways of finding out information, and that he knows people who can pull some shady shit. Which is why I acted when I did and moved everyone. Laura stayed away long enough so that anyone that was going to come after them right away wouldn’t have found anything. And there was no one at the house when they came back. I had Laura make sure, and I sent Fury out there while they were away. He checked for bugs.” Natasha’s voice softens. “Laura’s strong and smart. She can take care of herself, you know that. She’s not exactly going to sit back and let someone attack her, or the kids.”

“It doesn’t help,” Clint mumbles. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him...I see Wanda...” He stops, looking up. “How long was I dreaming for?”

“Not that long,” Natasha lies. “But I couldn’t wake you up. You were an idiot and you took your aids out.”

Clint narrows his eyes. “I don’t like them.”

“I know you don’t like them,” Natasha says in exasperation. “Do you think Cooper liked when he had to wear his cast? Do you think Lila liked sitting in her stroller when she could obviously walk fine, but you knew if you let her out she’d take off in ten different directions?”

Clint scowls. “Well, you got me awake somehow.”

“Wanda,” Natasha says promptly, and Clint's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“She used her powers? She was here?” He tries to move and Natasha forces him back down.

“Easy, Clint.”

“She’s scared, Nat!” Clint’s voice rises, echoing in the small room. “You forced her to use her powers when she was still scared!”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do!” Natasha snaps. “You couldn’t hear me, Clint, and you weren’t going to wake up on your own! You could’ve hurt yourself!”

Clint presses his lips together, looking both angry and forlorn. “Where’s Wanda now?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha replies honestly. “She must have left after she helped you.”

“I want to go see her.”

“Clint…”

“Natasha, I’ve done enough damage to her because I couldn’t control anything,” Clint says, his face looking as heated as his voice sounds. “I practically ruined her life! You’re really going to keep me from at least _trying_ apologize for fucking her up?”

“I just...I don’t think this is the best time,” Natasha says helplessly, knowing her words aren’t going to register in his angry state. “I know you’re worried, but I think if you give her time, she’ll come around. She’s a smart kid, Clint. She knows you care about her.”

“You really think she’s going to forgive me?” Clint asks, and Natasha can practically see his heart breaking into pieces inside of his chest. “I can go home, I can live my life even if I have to look over my shoulder every five minutes, but she can’t go anywhere. Ross is going to be hunting her for the rest of her life. She was hurt, she was drugged, she’s scared...and it’s all my fault.”

“So what are you going to do?” Natasha asks furiously. “Go to her and tell her how you’re a terrible person? Say how much you regret being there for her? Blame yourself and beat yourself up? Because that will make her feel so much better, Clint.” She rubs her eyes, trying to control her own temper. “Let yourself sit for awhile. Your body’s still healing.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Clint mutters, before closing his eyes. When he opens them, he’s staring at two things: his bow and his uniform, which has been neatly folded and is lying on the covers. Natasha watches his eyes well up.

“You got all of it?”

“Of course we did,” Natasha says quietly. “It wasn’t easy. But Laura and I worked pretty hard on that suit, and I wasn’t letting Ross take it away from me.” She tries to smile, and Clint reaches for the uniform, running his fingers over the fabric.

“What if I told you I wanted to go home?” he asks, his words slow and practiced.

“Then I would tell you what I told you before,” Natasha replies, watching him. “That it needs to be your decision. If you want to go home, we’ll go home, Clint. But I _need_ you to be sure.”

“Yeah.” Clint chews on the inside of his cheek, biting down on the skin in a way that reminds Natasha of Cooper, who liked to do the same thing when he was thinking about something serious. Suddenly, she misses her family with a fierce ache.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up; he’s clutching the sleeve of his uniform in one hand and his eyes are hard but also emotional.

“I want to go home.”

Natasha waits until she’s sure he's not going to break their gaze, and then nods, forcing her voice out of her throat.

“Okay.”

 

***

 

Knowing he’s going home both terrifies and relieves him. Clint wants nothing more than to walk into the house the same way he’s used to doing after every mission, tired and sore and falling into Laura’s arms, while Cooper gives him a high-five and Lila bombards him with hugs and Nate cries from all the commotion. At the same time, he dreads having to face Laura knowing how worried she is about him, and he dreads having to figure out what to tell his children.

The decision does make him more determined to do more than just lie in bed, however. He walks around T’Challa’s palace during the mornings he can’t sleep, trying to get his mind to understand what it means to be upright and alert without his head exploding every five minutes. He sees Steve and Sam sometimes, usually by themselves or in deep conversation with T’Challa, but he doesn’t bother to go over and talk. He doesn’t see Scott but doesn’t ask; half of him hopes that the other guy had at least been able to find a way home before he remembers Scott most likely had the same things to worry about that _he_ was worrying about. He can’t figure out where Natasha’s been staying this whole time but he guesses it’s nowhere near his recovery room, and he hasn’t even been able to find where Wanda might be holed up.

He doesn’t blame Wanda for staying away from him. He’d stay away from himself, too, he thinks, if their positions were reversed. Natasha had finally opened up about what kind of drugs they'd found in Wanda’s body after they rescued her, and the results had made him feel sick: a mix of strong sedatives, including seconal, valium and placidyl. He’s not sure how Wanda had even been able to move when he found her, considering she had been ingested with the equivalent of what someone would take to overdose, and the combination alone should’ve killed her.

 _Would’ve killed a normal person_ , Clint reminds himself. No wonder she had been such a mess when he rescued her. Wanda was enhanced, and even though Ross might have thought he could cheat the science of her biochemistry, Clint has a feeling that the thing she hated most about herself might have saved her life.

 _I tried to save her, and I made it worse. All I wanted to do was keep her safe, and I hurt her. I’m always going to put people in danger_ , Clint thinks, unable to keep the self-deprecation out of his mind. _Always_. He rips an aid out of his ear and then thinks better of it, sticking it back in and trying to ignore how strange it feels. He’s not sure if he’ll ever really get used to wearing them, despite Natasha’s insistence that what he’s using is better than anything he’d get in the "regular" world.

The day they’ve decided to leave Wakanda, Clint’s shaved enough of his beard off and washed himself enough to not feel like he’s a homeless man who crawled out of a garbage heap. He gathers what’s left of his personal belongings, the few things Natasha hasn’t already taken with her, and notices a folded piece of paper sitting on his bedside table.

_North Terrace, Balcony Level._

He recognizes the writing as Natasha’s, and crumples the paper in his hand before walking out of the room. By the time he gets to the terrace doors, he realizes he knows what -- or rather, who -- he’s expected to find, and stops behind where Wanda is standing at the edge of the small balcony, overlooking what seems to be Wakanda’s everlasting state of gloominess and mist.

“Heard you were ignoring me.” He fights the urge to flinch at the sound of his own voice; everything is clearer and sharper with his aids, and his voice sounds as pretend as his optimistic thoughts are. Wanda sucks in a sharp breath as Clint walks forward. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to run, but then she leans forward again, shaking her head.

“That is not what I meant.”

“I know. I’ve got three kids. Well, two that really take the ignoring thing to the next level if you don’t count Nate. But I’m pretty good at figuring out when people are avoiding me.” He side-eyes her carefully; among the fear and guilt written all over her face, Clint also notices that the bruises on her neck are slowly healing, the cuts and colors looking more rose-red than blood-orange. He immediately feels another surge of guilt, remembering how she'd been brought into all of this, and looks away quickly.

“I did not expect to see you out of bed.”

“Well, I’m going home,” Clint replies. “So I figure even if my mind is a shitshow, I should probably figure out how to stand on my own two feet without falling over. Otherwise, I'm never getting up when my kids jump on me.”

Wanda smiles faintly. “You are swearing. You seem better.”

“Yeah, well.” Clint snorts quietly under his breath. “Good days and bad days. You seem better, yourself.”

“I am healing,” Wanda says ominously, clearing a throat which still seems to bear the effects of multiple sedatives and a shock collar, and Clint isn’t sure whether she means in body or in mind.

“Yeah, I know that feeling.”

Wanda’s eyes fill with tears. “I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I could not help you. I should have.”

“Should have what?” Clint asks, his voice echoing in his ears loudly. “Done some hand-waving magic while you had drugs in your system? Pushed that bomb out of the Raft so it could explode somewhere else? Do you even _know_ what they gave you in there, Wanda? Jesus, I should have never let you out of New York!”

“Do not say that,” Wanda says softly, but Clint can’t help the anger bubbling up inside of him.

“I am saying it. If _anyone_ should feel bad, it’s me. I...I made it too personal. I cared too much about protecting you, so I dragged you into this mess with no regard to how dangerous things were. And now you’re on the run, and you were hurt, and --”

“And you think I do not blame myself for what happened to _you_?” Wanda asks, fresh tears glistening in her eyes. “That bomb exploded and you got hurt because you stayed to help me. Because you refused to leave me. You said you would not leave without me.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, turning towards her, surprise overtaking his anger for the moment. “You really thought that I would?”

“No,” Wanda replies, shaking her head. “But if I really wanted you to...would you have? Left me there?”

Clint watches the way she plays with her sleeves, the careful way she’s avoiding his gaze by pulling down on the fabric and then chewing on parts already torn. In that moment, he sees Lila, wide-eyed and timid, asking her father if he was sure he trusted her to ride her bike alone.

Because Wanda needed to know if Clint still believed in giving her agency, even when she was well past the point of being able to think for herself.

“It was always your choice, Wanda. I forced your hand in that prison because I knew you were compromised. But --”

“But?”

“But, I would have trusted you to make your own choice,” Clint finishes. “I know I said I would stay in there with you. And I would have done that, too.”

“That would have been a stupid thing to do,” Wanda says, her voice wavering. “You have a family.”

“ _You’re_ my family,” Clint says, grabbing her hand and interlocking their fingers. Wanda shakes her head sadly.

“You know I am not.”

“You are,” Clint repeats. “Natasha’s my family. It’s not just Laura and Cooper and Lila and Nathaniel anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.” He swallows down the knives that seem to cut up his throat, making it hard to get the words out. “Look, I know you’re not a kid, Wanda. I know you’re not _my_ kid. I know that’s something I have to remember. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you like you’re my own family. I always will.”

“I know,” Wanda says, leaning into Clint just enough, and he wraps an arm around her automatically. With his aids, he can hear the harshness of her breathing in addition to feeling the way her chest rises and falls against his body, and his eyes sting at the realization of just how close both of them came to not coming home at all.

“I do not know what I would have done if you were not there with me,” Wanda says softly, as if reading his thoughts, and for a moment, Clint wonders if she’s done that mind connection thing again. “What would have happened to me.” She moves away from Clint. “I am sorry I stayed away. I did not know how to work through my feelings."

“It’s not something you’re really taught,” Clint says, thinking of Natasha and their first few months together at the farm.

“Maybe,” Wanda agrees. “But before you, only Pietro cared so much that he would have noticed I wasn't acting like myself.”

Clint pulls her close again. “Hey, maybe I’m not in the best position right now to give pep talks, but I know what it feels like to feel guilty about someone getting hurt, when it’s not your fault.” He waits for the weight of his words to settle, until he knows Wanda can feel their impact. “I know what it feels like to feel responsible for someone else’s pain.”

“Pietro,” Wanda says softly, and Clint nods.

“Yeah. And...other people.”

Wanda looks suddenly uncomfortable, as if she wants to say something but isn’t sure how to start. “When I helped you during your nightmare --”

“I know,” Clint interrupts. “Thanks, by the way. Natasha told me.”

“No,” Wanda says. “She did not tell you how I helped. She did not tell you that in order to get you to calm down and wake up, I had to pull the bad memories out of your head, even if they were not the things you were dreaming about.”

Clint stiffens unnaturally, his spine arching even though everything still hurts. “So you...saw things?”

“Yes,” Wanda says and Clint lets out a breath.

“Well, then you know I was a killer, once.”

“You are not a killer,” Wanda says softly. “And if you are, then I am, too. I have blood on my hands from when I was controlled by Ultron.”

“It’s not the same,” Clint says, feeling the sting of memories all over again. “You didn’t know me, Wanda. You didn’t hurt your own family. I mean, I hurt Natasha. I almost killed her. And I felt _good_. I killed everyone I needed to, without a second thought.” Clint stops, looking down at his hands, which are gripping the rails of the balcony too tightly. “Sometimes, I’ve always felt like there are two parts of me. The violent part that acts without thinking, and the part that wants to do nothing but help people. Loki brought that violent part out of me. It doesn’t mean it can’t come out again.”

“Ultron brought out my anger,” Wanda says. “The anger that I had at the world, at Tony Stark, at my country. It does not mean that anger is not a part of me. I still have it. I realized that when I hurt those people in Lagos.”

Clint smiles half-heartedly. “You know, it’s silly. I've never cared much what people think of me. But for so long, I just wanted to protect you from knowing what kind of person I was. I can’t protect you from the world, and I can’t protect you from me.”

“You cannot,” Wanda says. “But Clint, I did not care what I saw in your head...what I know you did. I helped you anyway, and I always will.”

Clint looks over at her, feeling a little more comforted. “You gonna be okay here?”

Wanda moves her mouth back and forth. “I do not know. But I do know that being here will help me figure things out. Right now, I know I cannot go anywhere. This is the best place for me.”

Clint closes his eyes against the truth of her words, trying to ignore the fact that he’s the cause of them. _She’s a fugitive. She’s a fugitive without a family and she lost the only family she had, aside from you and Laura. And now she can’t even have that. God, Barton, you’re such a mess. How could you even think this would end up fine, that you could just return to life after breaking the law, knowing how much was at stake? How could you even assume you could just go back to the way things were, have Wanda come home with you like the daughter you think she is?_

“You know --”

“I know,” Wanda says quietly. “But the farm is your home, Clint. It cannot be mine, even if you want it to be. And I think you are quite crowded already.”

Clint stifles a laugh. “Yeah. And Cooper still wants a dog, I think. Good thing Laura’s learned to put her foot down when it comes to requests, otherwise we’d _really_ have a full house.” He catches Wanda’s lips turning up, just a little. “I know you’re strong enough to figure out how to get through this alone, if that’s what you want to do. But it doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you. I owe you, remember?”

“And you know I will be worried about _you_ ,” Wanda trades pointedly, nodding at his ears.

“Make you a deal, then. You keep working on your powers and learning how to control them. And I’ll work on trying to remember that having these doesn’t mean I’m not useful.” He tries and fails to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, and Wanda takes his hand again.

“As long as you are around to pick people up, Clint, you will never stop being useful.”

Clint barks out a harsh laugh. “You’re giving the pep talks, now?”

“I do not think I am cut out for pep talks,” Wanda admits. “But I do care about you.”

Clint smiles, reaching into his pocket. “Here,” he says, handing her his phone. Wanda gives him a quizzical look.

“Your phone? But you need it.”

“It’s a burner, never used, should be untraceable,” Clint responds. “But all my numbers are programmed in there -- the house, Laura’s cell, even Natasha’s personal cell. It’s a good way for you to get in contact with me, when you feel like you want to.” He pauses. “I, uh. I know you don’t really know much about my family. But my dad wasn’t around, really. He died when I was young, and my mom and brother...anyway, I want to be there for you. It’s more than just owing you a debt, Wanda.”

“So I am stuck with you forever?” Wanda asks lightly, but there’s a clear tremor in her voice.

“Yes. I swear, Wanda. I’ll be around for you.”

Wanda nods. “Thank you,” she says softly. Clint opens his arms, hugging her tightly, and holds her for a few minutes before pulling away, trying to stop himself from turning back around once he leaves. In some ways, it feels wrong to leave Wanda, though he knows he doesn’t really have a choice. He can’t stay here forever, as much as he wants to. And she couldn’t come home with him, not right now.

As he gets closer to his room, he realizes he can hear talking, a voice he recognizes as Natasha’s. She's making a phone call; he can tell by the one-sided conversation, but thanks to the fact that his aids amplify everything from small noises to the most quiet of sounds, he can clearly hear the other voice through the phone line.

He’s been through a lot, Laura.”

“He’s -- you think he’s been through a lot? Loki was a lot. HYDRA was a lot. He lost his hearing, Natasha! He was in jail!”

“I know, Laura. Calm down.” Natasha’s voice turns gentle, the voice Clint knows she always uses when she needs to be Natasha, the wife and girlfriend, as opposed to Natasha, the agent and partner. “It’s just going to take some time.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha says in a low voice. “But like I said, we’re leaving today. We should be home by tonight if the quinjet moves fast enough, so I wanted the kids to be aware. I’ll call you when we’re close.” She hangs up and then turns around, her eyebrows rising when she sees Clint standing there.

“Talking behind my back? You know, all the wives do it. And I’ve got two of them.”

“Clint --”

“It’s fine, Nat. I know I’m fucked up. You don’t need to hide it from me.”

Natasha sighs, putting the phone in her pocket. “Did you talk to Wanda?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “It’s…” _Fine_ is the wrong word to use, he knows, but he’s not sure what to say that won’t make her worry. “Better.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “And you’re sure you’re ready for this?"

“Yeah,” Clint repeats, but he knows he can’t keep the worried look off of his face as he says the words. Natasha’s eyes narrow, and he’s not surprised when she fixes him with a stare.

“What’s wrong?”

Clint glances down at the shiny white floor. “What if I do it at home? The whole nightmare thing?”

“You’re going to sleep without your hearing aids? And you were worried about the same thing with Loki, remember?” When he doesn’t respond, she takes his hand and squeezes it gently. “Don’t you remember how worried I was about snapping in front of Laura and the kids?”

“Of course I do,” Clint says slowly. “But this is different. I’m _deaf_ , remember?”

“You’re only deaf when you don’t wear your aids,” Natasha says impatiently, yanking her hand away. “So you can stop with this pity act, because I almost lost you, and I really don’t want to hear it.”

“Yeah, you didn’t seem to have a problem punching me out at the airport,” Clint mutters under his breath as she turns around to grab her bag. Natasha whirls back angrily.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you, Clint! Even Wanda could tell!”

Clint glares at her. “Look, we can talk about this later, okay? God knows we’ll have to, with Laura.”

Natasha glares back. “T’Challa’s setting up a quinjet for us, and he’ll be able to guide us out of Wakanda’s channels. It’s a bit tricky getting past the restricted airspaces, but it shouldn’t be a problem as long as we know what flight paths to follow.”

“And I’m supposed to be able to fly okay?” Clint asks uncertainly, gesturing to his ears. Natasha sighs.

“It’s not ideal, but there’s no other way for us to get home from here. We’ll just put stealth mode on and fly at the lowest altitude possible. Once we get out of Wakanda, it’s smooth sailing back to the farm. Hopefully.” She nods towards the door. “I can pilot, unless you’re too deaf to do it yourself.”

Clint rolls his eyes at her words but he knows Natasha can see the fear settling in his face, the very clear answer -- he _wants_ to, but still doesn’t trust himself to do the things he’s so used to doing now that he's lost one of his most important senses.

“At least you didn’t feed me another lie,” she says after a long pause. “It’s okay. It’ll give me something to do, at least.”

“And it’ll give me something to do, too?”

“You can sleep,” Natasha responds. “Or read. Or talk to me. Or think about how it’s going to feel to see our wife again, and Cooper, and Lila, and Nate.” She picks up her bag and hands him his own. “We’re going home.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, fighting a heaviness in his heart that he can’t ignore as he looks back towards where he knows Wanda is still standing. “We are.”

 

***

 

The day Laura prepares to welcome Clint and Natasha home, the sun lingers low in the sky, soaking the front garden with golden light. Laura gets Cooper and Lila up early, giving Nate a bath and making a quick breakfast before shuffling all three of them out of the house.

“Thanks,” Laura says when Elizabeth opens the door, taking the baby carrier from Laura as Cooper and Lila run inside -- no doubt, Laura thinks, to take advantage of the leftover cookies they know are in the kitchen. “I know it’s a lot to ask to take all of them for awhile. But I need to clean the house before Clint and Natasha get home, and --”

“Laura, Laura-love, it’s okay.” Elizabeth leans over to hug her. “You know I’ll take any excuse to spend time with my grandchildren.”

Laura smiles gratefully. “Make sure they don’t spoil themselves too much? We’ll probably have an early dinner tonight. And Nate should go down for a nap around eleven, but I’ll be back before five.”

“Noted,” Elizabeth says with a grin. “Now, go home and take some time to yourself, before I push you out of the house.”

Laura obeys, backing away as the door closes. It's only when she’s safely inside the car and has started to drive home that she lets her mind start to wander dangerously.

There was going to be no easy way to tell her children about Clint’s injury, that she knows. Besides the questions and the drawbacks, there were the smaller, more random moments she knew she had to worry about handling -- Cooper’s worries about him being the cause of Clint’s injury, Lila’s misunderstanding of why Clint might not hear her or talk too loudly. And Laura knows there’s absolutely no way she can prepare for any of it, and so she tries to remind herself that at least Natasha will be home, too, and she won’t have to do this totally on her own.

She pulls herself together by doing what she does best when she’s stressed, keeping herself busy by stopping at the grocery store, and then cleans as much of the house as she can. She starts a wash and gathers Nate’s toys, piling them in the corner of the living room; she makes herself coffee and changes the sheets on all the beds and puts fresh flowers outside on the porch. By the time she’s driving back to her parents’ house under the glow of the setting October sun, she feels somewhat calmer.

Cooper opens the door for her, and then runs back upstairs to keep playing what Laura suspects is the latest video game her dad has gifted him with. Laura wanders into the kitchen where she can hear voices echoing.

“What are you doing, little monster?” Laura takes in the sight before her, which includes her mother icing a large cake, Lila helping diligently by spreading frosting with her own spoon, and Nate shoving chocolate chips into his mouth with vigor.

“Making a cake,” Lila says, licking a glob of chocolate off her thumb. “For Auntie Nat and daddy going home! Wanna help?”

Elizabeth glances at Laura. “Why don’t you go upstairs and clean up, Lila baby, and I can finish the cake for us? I think we’ve done all the fun stuff. Now, it’s just the boring grown-up stuff.”

“Thanks, mom -- Lila, honey, come on. You can’t welcome Auntie Nat and daddy home looking like that.”

“But I’m baking a cake!”

“You also have dirt on your face. And paint on your nose,” Laura says unapologetically, leaning down to kiss Nate on the head while her daughter stares up at her with a frown.

“I washed my face in the daytime!”

“Not good enough.” Laura pushes Lila towards the stairs. “Shoo, Lila baby. I don’t want dirt in my car, your brother’s bad enough. Both of them.”

Lila grumbles under her breath but she lets Laura lead her upstairs, where she perches on the toilet seat in the bathroom while Laura runs a washcloth under hot water and wrings it out.

“Mommy?” Lila looks down as Laura dabs at smears of red paint. “Is daddy a bad man?”

Laura stops with the washcloth near Lila’s lip, and carefully wipes away some dirt. “No, baby. Daddy’s not a bad man. Why would you think that?”

“Because grandma put the television on and I heard daddy’s name,” Lila continues. “They said he runned away and was in trouble. You’re bad when you’re in trouble.”

Laura ignores the pain in her gut as she puts the washcloth down, cupping her daughter’s face with two hands. “You know your daddy is never bad, right? Even when he yells or gets angry or runs away?”

Lila nods slowly, though her eyes harbor a fearful look. “But what if he _is_?”

“Lila, listen to me, sweetheart. Grown-ups can be sad and mad and they can make mistakes, but that’s normal. Just because daddy might have done a bad thing, it doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.”

Lila chews on her lip. “Auntie Nat said there are only bad people because they don’t have people who love them. So is daddy not bad because I love him?”

“Yes,” Laura says, deciding to allow her daughter that knowledge for the moment. “And Auntie Nat is very smart.” She kisses her daughter on the cheek. “You know that’s why you’re so smart, right?”

“I’m smart because mommy is smart!”

Laura smiles. “And daddy, and your other mommy.” She picks up the washcloth again and continues wiping down Lila’s face. “I know daddy’s been away for a long time. But when he gets home, he might need some time to relax, okay? Like he’s used to doing after he comes home from work.”

“Okay. But can we still read my books?” Lila asks hopefully.

“Yes,” Laura promises. “As long as you behave and go to bed on time.” She finishes wiping the rest of the dirt and paint off Lila’s face. “Now, go back downstairs and help grandma finish your cake. We’re going home soon.”

Lila kisses her mom on the nose, and Laura smiles to herself as she watches her daughter walk downstairs. She leans against the doorframe of the bathroom, her eyes wandering to her parents’ bedroom, and then to her own bedroom a few doors down, the one that she knows still bears all the marks of a small-town girl who never would have imagined herself being the wife of a SHIELD agent -- or for that matter, the wife of his partner.

“Laura. Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Laura turns to find Bob standing behind her, and nods slowly. “Of course, dad.” She follows him into their bedroom and closes the door quietly. “What’s going on?”

Bob sits down on the bed, indicating Laura should join him. “I know things have been hard lately. How are you doing?”

“I’m…” Laura glances towards the door. “You know I can’t lie to you.”

Bob nods. “I know. When your mom told me what happened with Clint, I tracked down some old Air Force friends.”

Laura gives her father what she knows is a confused look. “I thought you said you didn’t know Ross.”

Bob shakes his head. “People talk, Laura. I don’t know Ross, but word came down from a few people I’m still in touch with that Clint had been imprisoned -- thank Ross for that, probably, because he’s not exactly smart enough to worry about what he tells people.”

“Natasha told me Ross wanted the world to know about what happened to Clint and everyone who went to jail,” Laura says softly. “She thought he would use the information he knew about them to hurt the people they were close to.”

“Yes,” Bob agrees. “And when I heard about what happened, naturally, my first thought was you and my grandchildren.”

Laura gives her dad another confused look, wondering if she should tell her parents about Natasha’s unorthodox kidnapping spree. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” Laura’s dad stares at her pointedly, the same look Laura knows he used to give her when she was asking about a math problem she couldn’t solve, expecting an answer that wasn’t going to come, because Laura had to figure it out for herself. “There are a lot of Clint Bartons in the system, Laura. More than you’d probably expect, for the uniqueness of that name. But Barton is a pretty popular surname, especially if you count the ones that have been shortened and modified over the years.”

Laura furrows her brow. “Dad…”

“And for that matter, there are a lot of Laura Bartons,” continues Bob nonchalantly. “There are even a lot of Laura Fosters. A few, actually, that are right here in Iowa. Sometimes, those kind of things make it hard to determine which records might belong to the right people.” He pauses, allowing Laura to take in all of his words. “Even though your mom didn’t know what Clint’s job was, when he started going away to work, she also started taking precautions. We knew a few people who worked in data entry at different places, and over the years, your mom would contact them and ask for flaws to be put into your records. Nothing that would make the government suspicious, or cause you any danger, but just enough flaws to misdirect someone looking up ways to find you or Clint. It was our way of protecting you.”

“Dad…” Laura trails off, trying to make sense of his words, and part of her feels like she’s been punched in the gut. “All these years? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't need to know," Bob answers. "You deserved to live your life without looking over your shoulder, Laura."

"But you could have put you and mom in danger!" Laura says, her heart racing at the realization. "You could have been arrested for breaking the law.”

“And you could have been hurt, or worse, and Clint could have been tortured to give out information about his family to people we can’t protect ourselves from,” Bob says. “None of us expected to find out that Clint had been taken to jail, but your safety has and will always come first, Laura.” He puts one hand over her own, and strokes her hair with his other hand. “I know I haven’t always been Clint’s biggest fan. I admit that. But he’s kept you safe.”

Laura finds that she has no idea how to respond. “Thank you,” she says softly, hugging her dad tightly, letting her face rest against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Laura." He pulls away and pats her knee. “Now, come on. If I know Lila, she’s already convinced your mother that she needs to go home with extra dessert.”

“You should be worried about Cooper,” Laura says with a long sigh as she gets up. “He’s gotten _really_ good at talking himself out of blatant lies.”

“Wonder where he gets that,” Bob muses with a wink as Laura laughs under her breath.

With Elizabeth's help, Laura somehow manages to get all three of her children out of her parents’ house with minimal issue, Lila carefully holding the cake that Laura’s mom has wrapped and prepared for travel. By the time she gets home, it’s almost six, and the sun is finally starting to set with the heavy amber glow that had been so prominent during the day giving way to a softer, more sensitive palette. Laura inhales a deep breath of cold fall air, raising her face to the sky as the world above her darkens, the first hint of stars punching their way into view.

Laura lets Cooper bring the cake inside while she gets Nathaniel out of the car, carrying him into the house. She leaves the front door open, mostly because she has her hands full with the baby carrier and her travel mug, and walks to the kitchen, placing the carrier on the table. Nate grins and stares up at Laura with his huge expressive eyes, and Laura smiles back, kissing him on the head.

“You are my favorite baby, do you know that?” She tickles the side of his head and he lets out a loud giggle in return.

“The door!”

“Yes, I know, Lila baby.” Laura picks up the cake Cooper’s left on the counter and puts it in the fridge, ignoring her daughter’s insistent tone. “I have to close the door. Give mommy a moment to put the cake away.”

“No, mommy!” Lila’s voice is louder now, and verging on excited. “Someone’s at the door!”

Laura closes the fridge hastily and then grabs Nathaniel from his carrier, placing him on her shoulder as she turns around.

And Laura watches the two people she loves walk back into the house, back into her life, and she starts to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Count the Hamilton references, if you dare...(no, I'm not sorry.)
> 
> Thanks to my darling, intrikate88, for answering all my wild babbling texts about government policies and situations. You know I love you. <3
> 
> Yes, there is reuniting! Which means we're about a little more than halfway through this story, depending on how long other chapters get. As always, thank you SO much for reading and continuing to be invested in this world. It means the world to me.


	13. Chapter 13

The first thing Laura does after Lila takes off, running into Natasha’s arms, is wrap her own arms around Clint’s body. She hugs him tightly, as if she needs to make sure he’s real and not some figment of her imagination; as if she needs to make sure she hasn’t fallen asleep and isn't in the middle of a fever dream. She’s vaguely aware of her daughter yelling happily, of Cooper running down the stairs behind her, of Nate’s sharp cries as the commotion overwhelms them. Everything seems to pale in comparison to hearing Clint breathe “hey,” into her ear, and she hugs him more tightly.

“I have half a mind to hit you right now,” she says as she pulls away, taking him in. He looks better than he had when they had talked over video chat, though some of the dark bruising around his eyes still remained, causing him to look tired and older than his 42 years. “But I think you’ve been hit enough.”

“Missed you too,” he murmurs. She notices that he doesn’t let go of touching her, keeping his hands locked around her body, and Laura wonders if he’s been thinking about everything _she’s_ been worried about while he was gone. She’ll tell him about what her dad had told her, eventually -- it’s not the right time or place at this moment, but she knows she owes it to both Clint and Natasha to let them know they’re not in as much danger as they probably think. Laura pulls back and traces a hand over Clint’s forehead, gingerly touching his ear. From the outside, everything looks the same -- Natasha had mentioned there would be some minimal scars where the doctors had tried to operate and fix his hearing -- and he flinches once she moves her fingers.

“Sorry,” Laura says softly. “I just wanted to --”

“Later,” Clint says, subtly shifting his gaze to Cooper, who is standing behind Laura and looking up with a hesitant smile.

“Hi, dad.”

Laura watches Clint smile, the way he relaxes, and she notices that Cooper also relaxes a little as Clint goes to hug him.

“Hey, kiddo. You good?”

Cooper nods, looking up again and narrowing his eyes. “You look different.”

“We had a long trip,” Natasha breaks in, leaning over to kiss him on the head. “We’re all just tired.”

“Daddy!”

Lila reaches out from Natasha’s arms, where she’s been bouncing patiently, her two braids tumbling down the back of her shirt. Clint holds out his arms.

“Hi, Lila baby.”

“You got home to me!”

“Of course I did,” Clint answers, nuzzling her nose. “I missed you too much to stay away.”

“Auntie Nat said you would get home, and you did!”

Clint hugs her again while Laura takes advantage of the moment and steps over to Natasha.

“Still worried I’m going to go off the rails?” Natasha asks as Laura kisses her on the cheek, closing her eyes as she presses her face into her hair. She’d missed Clint more than she could express, but she’d missed Natasha just as much. Maybe, Laura thinks as she hugs her, it’s because Clint has always been the one who came home while Natasha, for all that she’s been around and a part of their life for just as long, was more transient until recently.

“A little bit,” she admits as she finds Natasha’s eyes, noticing that she looks just as tired and worn down. Laura knows she hasn’t been through as much as Clint, at least not physically, but she’s not above realizing that mentally, Natasha's just as beat up as her husband is.

“We have a lot of things to talk about.”

They do, Laura realizes. She has so many questions -- questions about Wanda, about this place called Wakanda that they had stayed in, about Clint’s injury, about the Accords -- but she curbs her tongue, biting down on the inside of her cheek, because she knows it's not the time.

“Later,” she says, glancing at Clint. “Let’s get settled, first. I have dinner almost ready and you guys have to be starving.”

It’s only a little bit of a lie -- she had prepared most of the chicken and green beans the day before while the kids were at school, and she had finished the salad while her parents had babysat earlier in the day. But the table was still a mess and the rice still had to be warmed, and the dishwasher still needed to be unloaded. Fortunately, Lila’s content to take all of Natasha’s attention while Laura puts herself to work, forcing Cooper to help her while Clint goes upstairs by himself. Laura notices that Cooper watches his father disappear but doesn’t say anything, and she tries to put her anxiety out of her mind as much as she can. Fortunately, Nate chooses that moment to start crying again, apparently fed up with being ignored by nearly everyone in the house.

“I’ll grab him,” Natasha says from the living room, walking into the kitchen with Lila on her heels. She grabs for the baby, who kicks his chubby legs out in defiance while waving his arms above his head in dismay.

“Can we take Tasha-Nate for a walk?” Lila asks loudly over the sound of Nate’s crying, and Cooper shoves his hands over his ears.

“Ugh, be _quiet_ , Lila!”

“Indoor voice,” Laura breaks in, opening the dishwasher and handing Cooper some plates. “Lila, you and Aunt Nat can take a short walk. And I mean short. You’ve had a busy day already.”

She's relieved when Natasha hoists Nate onto her shoulder, bringing him outside to put him in his stroller. As Natasha leaves the room, she gives Laura a look --  _don’t worry, I’ve got it under control._ It’s a relief Laura's missed, knowing that she has someone around to help her when everything is overwhelming.

“Is dad okay?”

“Of course,” Laura says, handing Cooper more plates to bring to the table. It's quieter now, with Lila and Nate out of the house, and Laura can hear a door closing upstairs. Cooper gives her one of Natasha’s patented eyebrow raises, and Laura wipes her hands on her jeans.

“Look, Coop. Dad had a really rough few days with work. I know you don’t know everything that happened, but he’ll be okay. He just needs to rest. The important thing is that he’s home, right?”

Cooper nods slowly and Laura gestures towards the stairs.

“If you want, you can go up and spend some time with him before dinner. I'll finish getting everything ready.”

Cooper frowns and then nods again. “Yeah, okay.”

Laura watches her son wander out of the kitchen and she forces herself to keep unloading dishes like it’s any other Thursday night. _Don’t follow,_ she thinks, hearing Cooper ascend up the stairs. She trusted Clint not to go crazy or tell Cooper about his hearing out of the blue, and she knows that if she _does_ follow, Cooper will instantly be able to tell something’s not right.

Laura manages to finish setting the table and by the time Natasha and Lila return from their walk with Nate, she has multiple plates of salad ready. Lila bounds into the kitchen holding a limp display of flowers that she proclaims Natasha helped her pick as a welcome home gift for Clint, and Laura puts them in a small vase that she places in the middle of the table. When Natasha returns to the kitchen after changing Nate, Clint and Cooper are following behind her, and Laura notices that Clint looks a little better. He’s changed into jogging clothes and one of her Iowa State sweatshirts, and he’s cleaned up a small amount of the unyielding scruff covering his face. 

“Okay, but like, really -- dad, did you make cars fall off a _roof_?”

Laura watches Clint wince as Cooper’s loud alto voice startles him, but thankfully, her son doesn’t seem to notice.

“Eat your dinner,” Laura advises as Cooper gives Laura a look.

“But he told me before that he did, and it sounded really cool!”

“It was really cool, and I’ll tell you everything later,” Natasha promises as she reaches for the bread bowl. “Trust me. We have plenty of stories for you.”

“What else did you do while you were working?" Cooper asks eagerly as he reaches for his water. "Did you use your cool bracelets?”

Laura watches her family interact and tries not to get emotional knowing that it’s the first time they’ve all been together in far too long. And it doesn’t feel like anything has changed, not really -- it doesn’t feel like Natasha had left and come home and then left again, like Wanda had become a part of their family and then returned to her world of avenging, like they had gone to the lake house where they had gone from being a full family to barely half a family, like they had been forcibly removed from their own home and sent to Melinda May’s safe house, like Clint had left and gotten captured and thrown into jail.

Except it has. And unlike previous missions and setbacks that have affected their family, Laura knows she can’t pretend that nothing is different, because Clint has lost his hearing, and they’ve finally known what it means to become compromised as a family, and the kids needed to know so much, and --

“Mom?”

“Laura?”

Natasha’s looking at her in concern, and Laura realizes she’s holding her fork but not making an attempt to eat anything on her plate, staring blankly at the kitchen wall while the conversation around her fizzles out.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, trying to pull herself together. “I’m not used to paying attention to so much conversation... _someone’s_ been away for too long.” She smiles at Clint who smiles back, and Natasha’s lips turn up, but Laura can tell she doesn’t believe her words. Fortunately, the rest of dinner goes on without a hitch, and when Clint goes upstairs to put Nate down to sleep, Natasha wisely offers to watch the kids and clean up so Laura can go help her husband.

“Hey,” she says softly when she enters the bedroom and sees him standing with his back to the door. He’s rocking Nate in his bouncer, which is balanced on the dresser. “You wanna come down for dessert? Lila made you a cake. Mom helped, so it’s totally edible. I swear.”

Clint doesn’t respond, and Laura frowns when she notices that he’s making a fist with his right hand.

“Hey,” she repeats as she walks around to face him, gently moving his hand off the bouncer. Nate’s slumped forward, his eyes closed, and she pulls Clint towards the bed so that they can both sit down. When she pries open his other hand, he lets her.

“Just wanted a minute,” he says quietly.

Laura presses her lips together, her words dying in her throat and everything in her body hurting as she stares at the hearing aid in his palm. “It’s smaller than I thought.”

Clint smiles faintly. “Yeah. State of the art, supposedly. I guess you can barely see them.” He puts it back in, and Laura puts her hand on his knee.

“We have to tell them,” she says quietly, hating that she even has to say the words. “They’re too distracted right now with you coming home, but they’re going to notice something’s up. And then they’ll be angry they didn’t know. We can’t keep this from them...it’s not fair.”

“No,” Clint echoes softly. “It’s not fair.” He looks up, his eyes filled with fresh tears. “They don’t deserve this, Laura. They don’t deserve to have their dad come back…” He trails off, and Laura can see his throat working push out the rest of the sentence.

“Come back what?” Laura asks when he doesn't continue. “Damaged?” She takes his hand and squeezes it tightly. “Clint, you’re alive. You’re _alive_ , and that’s what matters. You saved Wanda, you came home --”

“I didn’t save Wanda,” Clint says miserably. “I made it worse for her. She was tortured and captured because of me. I put you in danger, and now I can’t even hear. I lost one of my most important senses, the only thing that made me useful to this team.”

Laura sighs sadly. “I know you’re going to beat yourself up over everything,” she says. “And I think we have a lot to talk about. But right now, there’s cake, and your children are downstairs, and I’m here, and Natasha is here. And you’re alive.”

Clint pulls her in as Nate makes a sleepy sound from his bouncer. “Laura…”

“You’re alive. And you were gone for so long,” Laura continues, her voice wavering. “And I just kept thinking...when I wasn’t thinking about you walking in that door, or worrying about what trouble you were getting yourself into, I kept thinking, I don’t know how to do this without you.” She stops to compose herself, taking a shuddering breath. “I can't do it. Not by myself. And I couldn’t have done it without Natasha. And we knew what we were doing by the time Nathaniel was born, but I couldn’t...I don’t want to ever do this without you.”

“I know,” Clint murmurs, stroking her hair. “I know Laura. I know.”

“If you know, then stop beating yourself up,” Laura says, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “Just be happy that you’re home. We’ve been through worse, Clint. You _know_ we have.”

The sound of the door opening causes her to move away from Clint's hold, and she turns to watch Natasha walk into the room.

“Sorry,” Natasha apologizes, looking at both of them as she closes the door behind her. “The kids are waiting to eat. I just...I needed some time alone, too. If you know what I mean.”

Heaviness swells in Laura's chest, emotions swimming through every inch of her body, and she pats the open space on the other side of her. “Come here,” she says as Natasha sits down, moving next to Laura and putting her arm around her shoulder. Laura keeps her own arm around Clint, who doesn’t move.

She holds both of them for a long time, simply because she finally can.

 

***

 

By the time Natasha’s helped Laura clean up after dinner and dessert, Cooper’s gone back to reading on the couch and Clint is nowhere to be found. Concerned and confused, Natasha interrupts Laura, who is watching videos on her iPad.

“Have you seen Clint?”

Laura shakes her head, pulling out an earbud and glancing away from the screen. “He took Lila upstairs awhile ago. Maybe he’s still getting her to bed. You know how she is after dessert.”

Natasha ducks out of the room, climbing the stairs with curiosity. When she gets to the top, she notices the light in the master bedroom is on, but that there’s no sound coming from inside. Natasha pushes the door open, and then leans against the doorway as her eyes take in the sight before her. Clint is curled up with Lila in the big bed, his arms wrapped around her small body. Lila’s wearing the mesh princess skirt she'd insisted on eating dinner in along with her plastic tiara, and dried chocolate frosting is smeared over her lips. One hand clutches a plastic magic wand, and an open copy of  _Guess How Much I Love You_ is lying across Clint’s knees. Natasha swallows down her emotions at the sight, and instead of rousing either of them, she reaches for the quilt.

“Night Auntie Nat,” Lila mumbles without opening her eyes as Natasha drags the blanket over their bodies. Clint doesn’t stir, and Natasha wonders if he’s taken his aids out or if he’s just overly tired.

“Goodnight, Lila baby.” Natasha leans down to kiss her gently and then straightens up, looking around the room. She walks over to the jewelry box on the dresser and opens it slowly, staring at her wedding ring, which is sitting in a separate holder, away from the rest of Laura's jewelry. She picks it up with shaking fingers, putting it in her pocket, and when she gets back downstairs, she finds that Laura’s sent Cooper to the bathroom to get changed.

“Everything okay?” Laura looks up from where she's relaxing with her feet up on the armrest of the couch.

Natasha nods. “Yeah. Are you okay with Cooper for awhile? I want to take a quick walk.”

Natasha notices Laura doesn’t bother to remind her that she already technically _had_ a walk, even though she gives her a slightly puzzled look at the request. _You played that game earlier with me_ , Natasha thinks, watching Laura react. _Don't think I can't tell when something is wrong with you._

“Of course.”

Natasha leans over to kiss Laura in thanks, and then grabs her jacket and a spare set of house keys. Once she gets outside, she starts walking across the lawn, past the barn and down the dirt road that winds away from the perimeter of the farm.

_Not gonna try to kill me this time._

She had spent the majority of the flight home replaying Clint’s words in her mind, trying to forget them, even though she knows she can’t. Because they had to talk about it at some point. She couldn’t pretend he wasn’t feeling some distrust and frustration about everything that had happened, and thanks to his injury and recovery, they hadn’t been able to talk about things without an added measure of guilt.

_Not gonna try to kill me this time._

She’s startled out of her thoughts by the sound of a car making its way down the otherwise deserted road, and as she steps out of the way to ensure that she’s not in the vehicle’s path, she catches wind of a radio report streaming out of the open window.

_"There are lines that have to be drawn when it comes to these so-called superheroes, says the Senate. Stay tuned to NPR, where in our next half hour, we’ll be talking to some experts who might have a few ideas about why these Sokovia Accords are so important for our future."_

Natasha breaks out in a jog, suddenly desperate to get away from everything that she’s been dealing with for the past two weeks. She passes a spot where a few lines have been etched into the dirt by children who she figures were probably bored while waiting for the bus, and the crass, zig zagging patterns remind her of how her own life has always been a confusing pattern of sorts. _And it's always led back here_ , Natasha thinks. _To Clint, to Laura, to the farm. Even when I didn't think I had anything, it always came back here. Tony was right. I can't let go of my own ego, because it'll always come back to the farm, and I'll always put everyone before me without even thinking about it_. 

She turns around when she's walked what is, by her count, at least two miles from the farm. She chooses to return home at a slower pace, taking her time and letting herself savor everything about being back: the undiluted cool wind, the barn owls that seem to hoot on cue every five seconds, the strong scent of honeysuckle and burning firewood; what Natasha knows are the last remaining vestiges of summer mingled with the beginnings of fall and winter. When she gets back to the farm, her legs ache with a pain that reminds her just how long it’s been since she’s had both a good night’s rest _and_ slept in a bed that wasn’t made for princes or kings.

She’s not surprised to find the house quiet when she returns -- Cooper had been close to his bedtime when Natasha had left -- but she is surprised when Laura walks downstairs with an unsettled look on her face while Natasha is taking off her coat.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as she hangs her keys on the bulletin board by the door, because she can tell by the alertness in Laura’s face that she wasn’t just woken up by the sounds of Natasha coming home. Laura shakes her head as she reaches the landing.

“Couldn’t sleep. I'm still getting used to everyone being back,” she says softly, wrapping her robe around her body more tightly. “Who else is up?”

“Just you and me.” Natasha sits down on the couch and holds her arm out. Laura smiles hesitantly and curls up next to her. “How’s Clint?”

“Sleeping,” Laura says. “I think. I found him with Lila.”

Natasha smiles. “I know,” she says, taking Laura’s hand. “I didn’t really feel like waking them up.”

“No,” Laura says softly, her voice sounding sad. “Me neither. I did have to make sure she didn’t fall asleep with chocolate on her face, though.” She sits up and forces out a smile. “How’s Wanda? Is she okay?”

“She will be,” Natasha says, trying to keep her response as honest as possible, because after everything, Laura deserved that much.

Laura bites down on her lip. “Clint said...he said she was tortured. And captured.”

Natasha swallows down a lump in her throat. “She took a hit. In the fight, and then in prison. She wasn’t exactly treated well by Ross. But Clint got her out when we staged the jailbreak, and we were able to get her help, and she recovered okay.”

“And that’s when…” Laura trails off and Natasha nods slowly, confirming her unasked question. 

“Where is she now?”

“Still in Wakanda. She chose to stay there for awhile. She...she wanted time to herself.” Natasha forces her voice to remain steady, unable to stop thinking about how _she_  had ran and hid more than once when she felt ashamed of how she had acted in front of the people she loved. “I couldn’t exactly blame her, after what happened.”

“She could have come here,” Laura says.

“She could have. But she needed her space,” Natasha replies. “And as long as she’s safe, that’s what matters. She knows how to reach us if she needs to get in touch, and she knows our door is always open for her.” Natasha pauses to kiss Laura's hand, running her lips over their interlocked fingers. “What was that about tonight? At dinner?”

Laura’s eyes suddenly find the floor. “Nothing,” she says, and Natasha feels sadness and concern gnaw at her insides.

“Laura.”

“I _said_ it was nothing,” Laura repeats a little more curtly. 

“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t shut yourself down like this.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Nat!”

Laura gets up abruptly, walking away from the couch and towards the door. She yanks it open angrily and disappears outside, and Natasha waits for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. She walks to the cupboard, searching shelves that are mostly bare, until she finds a bottle of Tennessee Honey whiskey. Foregoing glasses, she carries the bottle outside and turns on the porch light. Laura's sitting on the swing staring out over the dark lawn, her legs drawn up to her chest. She doesn’t make any show of acknowledgement when Natasha sits down next to her, putting the bottle gently on the ground.

“Laura…”

“You know, I went over it,” Laura interrupts, her voice still hard. “I went over it, again and again and again. The whole thing. How you chose different sides of this stupid Accords mess, how he ended up in that prison...I wanted to blame Stark for being so reckless. I wanted to blame Clint for running off to help Wanda. And when you told me that Clint had been hurt, that he had lost his hearing…” Laura swallows as the cracks in her voice start to give out. “I wanted it so badly to be someone else who was responsible for hurting him. I wanted to be angry at Ross, or even at you...I tried being angry at you. But then when I started thinking about it, I knew I couldn’t blame anyone. He was there for Wanda. He was trying to come home. He just didn’t get lucky like everyone else...he’s just the person that got hurt, because he’s too good.” Laura stops, tears filling her eyes, and Natasha’s heart pulses painfully in her chest.

“You wish it had been me. Instead of him, you wish it had been me,” Natasha says as the boulder sitting in her stomach grows. Laura shakes her head.

“No,” she says, her tears spilling over. “I wish it had been me.”

Natasha pulls her close, letting Laura burrow into her. Wetness stains the arms of her sweatshirt, and she lets Laura cry openly in a way she knows Laura hardly ever does, unless someone in her family was seriously hurt. “You couldn’t have planned for this,” Natasha says, stroking her hair. “Even if you knew how dangerous it was for him to go away, there was no way to know this was going to happen.”

“He told me he was breaking the law,” Laura says, sniffling loudly. “I knew the risks. I knew how bad it could be. He told me, he was honest with me and said he was going to probably be in trouble. And I still let him go.”

“And the Raft was a nightmare no one could have expected,” Natasha responds. “You let him go because you loved him and believed in him. Laura, you have years of marriage and partnership between you...this wasn’t a decision that you made easily. And because of that, it's not a decision that you live with easily.”

Laura shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I came so close to losing him. To losing both of you. I just…I never thought anything would be worse than the first time Clint went off to work at SHIELD.” She pauses, wiping a hand across her face. “Then he came home with you when he was hurt. Then Budapest, then Project PEGASUS, and New York, and HYDRA, and Sokovia…” She tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a sob. “You think you’ve been through all the bad stuff, after so long. Everything seems like it's worse than the last thing you went through. But it’s never going to stop. It’s never going to stop, Nat.”

Natasha hugs her tightly. “We’re home, okay? We’re home, and we’re not going anywhere, and we’re going to get through this together. I promise.”

“You don’t make promises,” Laura whispers as Natasha kisses her.

“I make promises to you. And I keep them.” As if to prove her point, she takes out her wedding ring, causing Laura to gasp once she realizes what Natasha is holding.

“I was going to give it back to you later, when you had been home for awhile.”

“I know,” Natasha says, slipping it on her finger. “But I wanted to take it back myself. If that’s okay.” She leans over and picks up the bottle of whiskey. “Need a nightcap?”

Laura laughs again, this time sounding a little less sad. She wipes away a stray tear as Natasha hands her the bottle, allowing her to take the first long sip. “I knew I missed you.”

“Me? Or my ability to know when you need alcohol?”

“Both,” Laura admits with a small smile, handing back the bottle. Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“As your wife, I absolutely don’t believe you didn’t drink while we were gone. Especially since I saw the cupboard. The swear chart might have gone without updates, but you definitely cleaned up in the vice department.” She lets her own smile drop, and sighs quietly. “We should talk about Clint. There are going to be adjustments.”

Laura nods again, taking another drink. “I know a little bit of sign language,” she offers after swallowing more whiskey. “My mom used to teach handicapped kids at one of the bases we lived at, and she taught me some words. But I don’t know how much I remember.”

“If he wants to use his aids, we won’t use it that much,” Natasha says. “But it’s still something we should know. It’s something the kids should know, too. Especially Cooper.”

Laura looks pained. “I don’t know how to tell the kids,” she admits, looking down at her hands. “I thought it was hard telling them about us, about your job. How do you tell them that one of their parents has been hurt like this?”

“You’re asking _me_?” Natasha asks with just a little bit of surprise. “I’m not...you know I’ve never been as much of a mother as you.”

“You’re their mother," Laura says. "And you've dealt with talking to them about serious things.”

Natasha puts her hand on her cheek. “But it’s not the same. The talks we’ve had with the kids, we’ve done them together. You’re the rock of this family, Laura. You’re the reason we are the way that we are. I love Clint, and I want to be with Clint, you know that..." She exhales slowly. "I've never known how to describe what we are. I know it's complicated and that we love each other. But Clint and I are partners in work and at home, and you and Clint are partners in marriage, and you were that before I was ever involved."

"I thought we were past all that," Laura says, sounding hurt. "I thought that didn't matter, now."

"It doesn't," Natasha assures her. "It's just...we live together and raise kids together, and we’re friends and lovers and everything in between. We call each other a triad, we say we’re in a poly relationship, but there’s no…” Natasha pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase her words. “There’s no real label, I guess. For awhile, I struggled with that, because I never belonged anywhere and I always wanted to be someone’s _something_. I wanted to be Clint’s partner, I wanted to be your friend, I wanted to be Lila and Cooper and Nate’s mom. I wanted to be SHILED’s best agent, and I wanted to be Nick’s daughter, and at one point, I even wanted to be Banner’s girlfriend.” She grimaces at the words as they leave her mouth. “But the longer I’m in this relationship, the more I realize I don’t want to be a label. And the best thing about us being together has been that you never tried to make me anything more than someone who just let me love you and accepted me for the person I am.” She blinks fast to hide her own tears, and Laura stares at her, her own face crumpling in a mess of emotions.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says finally, when she feels she can compose herself enough to speak. “I'm sorry, Laura. I'm sorry for everything.”

Laura leans forward and meets her lips, kissing Natasha for a long time, and runs her fingers over her jawline when they break away, finding Natasha's eyes before she speaks again.

“I know.”

 

***

 

The day after Clint and Natasha come home, Laura’s doing work at the kitchen table and Natasha is reading on the couch while Clint tries to unsuccessfully nap.

 _Unsuccessfully_ being the key word.

Despite Natasha’s warnings, he’s been sleeping without his aids, mostly because he’s realized it’s easier for him to fall asleep and stay asleep if he can’t hear any of the sounds that are so prevalent around the farm. He knows it’s not a quick fix, and also that he’s probably setting himself up for trouble when his nightmares get the best of him, but so far, things have been stable, and it’s all he can do to hold himself together.

He does have his aids in now, though, since he knows he needs to be able to hear his family if he’s around them. He also knows that Laura is desperately trying to force things to return to normal, even though Clint’s not an idiot: their current situation is about as far from normal as it can get. He tries to block out the sounds that are over-amplified -- Natasha’s page turning, the click of Laura’s pen, the hum of the washing machine, the creaks in the old wood floor every time Laura moves her chair. When he realizes he can’t fall asleep with so much noise, he decides to throw in the towel, sitting up fast. The living room walls and the television set swims in front of him as he closes his eyes.

“Hey.” Natasha’s voice is quiet and he can hear her putting her book down. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he says, opening his eyes. “Just sat up too quickly.”

Natasha’s face is almost too close as she stares at him, and it's unnerving. “Laura’s going to make lunch soon. I’ll see if I can get you some tea.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, leaning back. The sharp buzzing from his aids continues to drone in his ears, and combined with the overabundance of sounds, the whole atmosphere is downright grating.

“Daddy!”

He looks down to find Lila tugging on his jeans with two paint-stained hands. “Daddy, come play with me!”

“Lila, not now. Can you be quiet for a little while?”

Lila pulls on his pants more strongly, undeterred by Clint's response. “But _daddy_!”

“Lila.” Laura looks up from where she’s sitting in the kitchen, and removes her glasses as she leans forward. “Daddy’s tired, okay? We’ll play later, after your brother gets home.”

“But I wanna play _now_!”

“Lila, I told you to _be quiet_!” Clint snaps angrily, his voice rising. Nate bursts into tears, startled out of his happy reverie by the loud yelling, and Lila’s chest starts to rise and fall rapidly as she stares up at her dad. Before anyone in the room can say another word, she turns and runs upstairs.

“Shit.” Clint slumps back onto the couch as both Laura and Natasha rush into the room, and he meets both of their eyes. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Natasha says quietly as Laura picks up Nate, bouncing him in her arms. Clint watches her soothe him, the way she comfortably handles the baby, and he suddenly wants to cry himself. Instead, he clenches his fists, fighting the urge to show his discomfort because his wrist is still sore and healing.

“What can I do?”

Laura doesn’t answer, and Clint doesn’t know if that’s because she’s mad at him, or if it's because she’s trying to calm down a screaming baby who seems inconsolable. Natasha glances at Laura, and Clint can almost feel their judgement coming through in the silent conversation.

“You can talk to her,” Natasha says quietly, her voice barely audible over Nate’s sobs. “You can tell her why you got angry and show her that her dad is still there, even if he’s a little different now.” She takes a deep breath. “And then you can tell Cooper when he gets home.”

Clint can practically feel the blood drain from his face. “He’ll hate me.”

Natasha gives him a look. “He’s your son, Clint. He’s survived being told his parents are SHIELD agents and that his mom is sleeping with another woman. I don’t think this will exactly be a breaking point.”

“You don’t get it, Nat!” He looks at Laura, his voice wavering as he watches her walk in circles, singing softly. “He didn’t want to me to go in the first place. He thought I was choosing you over Laura. He thought I’d get hurt. He’ll think this is his fault...I know he’s been worried about me.”

“And he deserves to hear that you’re alright, and to know that you’re still the dad he grew up thinking was strong and unstoppable,” Natasha says. “That hasn’t changed, Clint. _Nothing_ about you has changed just because you can’t hear anymore.”

Clint looks at the stairs hesitantly, and Natasha kisses him on the cheek.

“You can do this,” she encourages. “I know you can.”

Clint nods and looks at Laura once more, before walking slowly up the stairs. With his aids, every step feels heavier than usual as the loudness resonates in his ears. Clint reaches the bedroom and pushes open to the door to find Lila curled up on her bed, clutching her stuffed wolf.

“Hey, baby girl.” He steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Can daddy come in?”

“You yelled at me,” Lila mumbles into the covers, not moving.

“I know I did,” Clint says, guilt coursing through him. He wonders if he'll ever be able to explain how, sure, it was nerve-wracking waiting for calls of extraction to come through on comms, but those nerves were ten times worse when it came to dealing with sensitive issues involving his own children. “Can I lie down with you and Brownie?”

Lila nods into her pillow. Clint thinks for a moment, and then takes out one of his aids. He carefully lowers himself to the small bed, twisting so that he can fit somewhat properly, and so that his good ear is facing the ceiling.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Lila says in a small voice. “I wanted to play because I missed you.”

“Oh, Lila. I know.” Clint reaches up and strokes her hair with his free hand. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”

Lila turns over finally. “Is it about mommy?”

“No,” Clint says, continuing to stroke her hair. Somehow, focusing on his daughter’s face and her innocent, curious eyes that are so inherent of Natasha is a comfort. “It’s about me. Something happened to me when I was away, and I got hurt.”

“You got hurt?” Lila asks.

Clint nods. “Yeah. I did. When I was working, I was in an accident.”

Lila’s forehead creases as she looks up at her father. “I don’t see any boo-boos on you.”

Clint tries to smile. “Well, that’s because you can’t see where I got hurt,” he says quietly. “My boo-boo is sort of invisible. My ears don’t work anymore, so I need some help.”

“What kind of help?” Lila asks curiously. “Would you hear me if I yelled really, really loudly?”

“Yes,” Clint says. “But only when I have these in.” He opens his palm, and Lila stares down at the small hearing aid in confusion.

“What’s that, daddy?”

“These are special toys,” Clint explains, holding the aid up so Lila can see it better. “They help me hear so that I can talk to you and play with you. They’re kind of like magic.”

“Magic ears?” Lila asks. Clint kisses her forehead.

“Yeah, Lila baby. Magic ears.”

“Oh.” Lila burrows down into the covers again. “Why did you yell at me?”

Clint hesitates, trying to figure out how to respond. “Because sometimes, the magic ears make me a little sad,” he says finally. “That’s another reason why they’re magic.”

“Can you go to the doctor to fix your ears?” Lila asks hopefully, pointing to his head. 

"No," Clint says quietly. “The doctors tried to help me a little bit, when I got hurt. But they couldn’t fix my ears.”

“Then tell mommy and Auntie Nat to fix you,” Lila says, her voice trembling. “Mommy and Auntie Nat fix me all the time and give me band-aids for my boo-boos.”

Clint pushes himself up on his elbow and puts his aid back in his ear. “It’s not the same, Lila baby. Mommy can’t fix this, and Auntie Nat can’t fix it, either. But I’m still your daddy, and I still love you very much. I’m still going to be able to read with you and play with you, even with magic ears. I promise.”

“Promise?” Lila’s eyes are fearful and worried, and Clint cuddles her tightly.

“Promise. I love you as far as I can hop. And I can even still get you as the tickle monster.” He runs his fingers over Lila’s stomach until she’s giggling loudly, writing in laughter. As she tumbles towards the edge of the bed, he catches her with both arms, bringing her back to his chest in a bear hug.

“I love you as far as I can hop, daddy. And I love your magic ears.”

Clint presses his face to his daughter’s head, kissing her scalp. “Why are you so good?” he asks when he lets her pull away. Lila's face brightens at the question.

“Because you tell me you love me," she responds simply. Clint smiles.

“Yeah. We do.” He kisses her again. “You wanna stay up here, or come back downstairs?”

“Mmmm.” Lila scrunches up her nose in an imitation of Clint’s own expressions. “I wanna come downstairs!”

“Okay, little nut-hare.” He lets her go fully. “Let’s go back downstairs.”

Lila runs out of her room, barreling back down the stairs. “Daddy showed me his magic ears!” she yells as she tears through the living room. Laura looks up from where she’s watching a now calm Nathaniel crawl around the living room.

“Good job,” Natasha says softly when he gets back downstairs. Clint lets out a long breath.

“I didn’t...she doesn’t know about sign language or anything.”

“Maybe that’s not a conversation for today,” Natasha says gently, nodding towards the clock. Clint understands the silent message -- Cooper will be home soon, and he knows that conversation isn't going to be as simple as explaining away his hearing aids as “magic ears.”

“I told Laura I would give Nate a bath if she colored with Lila,” Natasha continues. “But if you feel more comfortable --”

“No,” Clint says tiredly. “You’re right. I need to tell him myself. If I can talk to Wanda and Lila, I can talk to Cooper.” He looks at Laura. “Where’s Cooper’s bow?”

Laura furrows her brow, but points to the basement door. “I put it downstairs.”

Clint leaves Laura and Natasha in the living room and makes his way to the basement, searching amongst boxes and tools and old baby furniture until he finds where Laura has put the old bow Cooper’s been working on. He brings it upstairs and makes himself another cup of coffee, and by the time Cooper’s getting off the bus, walking up the lawn and pulling his knit cap off of his head, Clint’s sitting on the front steps with the bow by his side.

“Dad?”

“Hey, kiddo.” He smiles as Cooper gets closer, watching him pull out his earbuds. “How was school?”

“Fine." He glances at the deck. “Are you working on your bow?”

“No,” Clint says, picking it up and holding it out. “ _You’re_ working on _your_ bow. I mean, if you’re not too tired.”

Cooper smiles widely, flinging his backpack to the ground. He takes a seat next to Clint, who hands over the recurve. Cooper runs his fingers over the parts he’s already re-strung, examining it carefully, and Clint leans over.

“So, I noticed that Natasha tried to help you a little, but Aunt Nat doesn't know my bow as well as she says she does," he says, making Cooper smile. "You want to move the clicker this way, so that it locks in the right place." He points to the handle and Cooper nods, starting to tug at part of the bow.

“Hey, so.” Clint clears his throat quietly as Cooper works. “I wanna talk to you about what happened while I was away.”

“Are you gonna tell me about the new arrows you used?” Cooper asks excitedly, forgetting for a moment about the bow in his lap. Clint shakes his head, trying to ignore the constant buzzing in his ears and swallows down a wave of dizziness.

“No. I wanted to tell you about what happened. I had an accident, Coop. And I got hurt.”

Cooper’s hands freeze in place. “You got hurt?”

Clint nods slowly. “Yeah. I did. Do you wanna know how?”

Cooper swallows, and Clint can see him trying to keep the worry out of his eyes. “How?”

“Something happened to my ears, and now I can’t hear anymore. I have hearing aids to help me, but I need to get used to them, and I can’t wear them all the time.” He’s surprised at how easy it is to say everything out loud, but he wonders if it’s because for once, Cooper’s not lashing out or getting angry. He’s sitting in silence, barely reacting, and Clint thinks it’s almost worse to see him take in the information this way. At least when his son was angry, he _knew_ that he was feeling things, and he could find the anger within himself to respond.

“So you’re deaf?”

“I --” Clint stops, realizing he can’t beat around the bush at this point with his son, not after all these years. “Yes.”

"You didn’t tell me when you got home.”

“No,” Clint admits. “I didn’t. I didn’t want you to see me while I was hurt, before I came home, and I wanted to wait until I had a chance to talk to you to tell you what happened. I guess I thought I was protecting you. My whole life, my job has been about protecting you, whether or not I was working. And I wanted to continue to do that as long as I could."

Cooper keeps his attention focused on the bow. “Does Lila know?”

"Yes," Clint says. "She understands in her own way, the same way she understands about me and mom and Natasha.”

“Okay,” Cooper says in the same nonchalant tone, and Clint realizes he can’t take the casual acceptance anymore -- not when he knows his son's ugly sides like the back of his hand, if only because they're the sides he inherited.

“Coop, I know you’re upset. But this doesn’t change anything. I’m still your dad. I still love you.”

“But you’re deaf,” Cooper says, as if he can’t wrap his head around the information. “Don’t deaf people have to, like, use sign language and stuff? And sometimes they need special attention?”

“Yes,” Clint repeats. “But I mean it when I say I’m still going to be the same dad you’ve always known from the day you were born. We’ll just have another way of communicating sometimes. A different way.”

“But we’re already different,” Cooper says despondently, finally looking up. “We live with Nat, and you’re an Avenger. We had to move, I had to lie to my friends, and now we’re going to be even  _more_ different.”

Clint opens his mouth to respond, finding himself at a loss for words. “Being different isn’t always a bad thing,” he says carefully. “I’m different at work. I don’t have special powers like my friends. You’re different at school, right? And you’re still a star soccer player and a good friend. That doesn’t change the important things about you.”

Cooper doesn’t answer, and Clint can tell from the way his son’s leg is jittering that there’s something else he wants to say. He stays silent, letting the wind rustle the leaves on the tree beside the house, until it becomes clear that Cooper’s not going to speak anytime soon.

“You okay?”

Cooper looks at Clint worriedly. “When you got hurt last time, you didn’t talk to me much,” he says in a small voice. “And I don’t want that to happen again.”

Clint reaches over, taking the bow from Cooper’s hand and placing on the ground. “Look, I know this is hard. And I’ll be honest...it’s going to be hard for me, too. I don’t know how to make it better. But I’m going to be there for you, and I need you to understand that even though I'm going to be the same dad you've always known, I might have some trouble with things for awhile.”

“So you need me to still be a grown-up,” Cooper says almost resignedly.

“I just need you to understand,” Clint clarifies. “And if I’m scared, I need to be able to tell you that I’m scared, and I need you to know why. Remember when you thought I didn’t get scared?”

Cooper manages a smile. “You got scared when mom put up the Halloween decorations last year.”

“Ugh.” Clint picks up the bow and hands it back to Cooper. “Blame your mom for that one. I didn’t ask her to buy the screaming life-sized witch.” He leans over and kisses Cooper on the head. “I love you, kiddo. You know that?”

“Yeah, dad. I do.” He gestures towards the bow. “Can we keep working on this before I have to do homework?”

Clint blinks, surprised by the lack of resistance to the overall conversation, realizing he’s been waiting for some kind of pushback. “Yeah. Until mom yells at me.”

Cooper smiles again, and by the time Laura comes outside to politely but firmly request that Cooper take care of his _actual_ work instead of playing with a weapon, dusk is starting to encroach on the farm.

“Did you talk to Coop?” Laura asks after she kisses her son, sending him inside. Clint takes the bow and puts it by his legs.

“Yeah.” He leans back against the porch rail. “I guess he took it okay. Didn’t yell or argue.”

“Our son? The hot-headed almost-teenager who gets all his reactions from you, he didn’t yell?” Laura raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure the school didn’t send a doppelgänger home by accident?”

Clint knows she’s trying to make him smile, but he can’t seem to obey. “Does that mean the jury’s out on whether or not I’m a bad parent?”

“You could never be a bad parent,” Laura says softly, sitting down next to him and rubbing his back. “No matter how many times you swear in front of our children or how many pancakes you drop on the floor.”

Clint huffs out a small laugh that sounds too loud. “You don’t know what Wanda went through,” he says. “How much danger I put her in.”

“I don’t,” Laura says. “Because you haven’t told me about that yet. But --”

“Are you going to tell me I’m not her dad?” Clint breaks in as Laura continues to run her fingers across his back.

“Well, you’re not,” she counters gently. “But also, I like to think I know you pretty well after all these years. I know who I married. And I’ve told you before, I trust that decision every single day.” She kisses him on the cheek. “I _still_ trust it, even with your injury. I still trust it, even after all of this. You don't get to die first. So if I have to love an injured, deaf husband with anger and post traumatic stress issues, I'll do it. As long as he can still make me coffee in the morning.”

Clint turns his head to find Laura staring at him with love in her eyes. 

“Remember when we were first dating, and I told you I didn’t deserve you?”

“Oh, I remember,” Laura says. She laces their fingers together and leans her head on his shoulder. “Which is why I’ll always remind you that you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there are probably about 4-6 chapters left, unless my outline gets totally sidetracked (which is entirely possible with me.) I'm going to try to space updates out so that it's not TOO frequent because I don't want this to end too quickly, but also I'm going to try not to wait too long between chapters with the holidays and stuff coming up. I don't want to keep you guys hanging for too long, since I have some wonderfully angsty plans for the next chapter and beyond. ;) Thank you for continuing to read and share!


	14. Chapter 14

If Laura had her way, she would absolutely not be driving home from work after nine at night, moving the car slower than usual due to the dark roads. By the time she pulls into the long driveway, she almost sighs in relief at the sight of the house with its windows glowing warmly against the charcoal sky. A light trail of smoke is swirling neatly into the clouds, and Laura smiles to herself. She had been wanting to light the fireplace for weeks, but she hadn’t had the time or the energy to find the right wood.

She’d been hesitant to leave Natasha and Clint alone, if only because she’d been worried about Clint having another outburst in front of the kids. But, Laura had reminded herself, this was her family, now. They’d barely had a chance to become much of a family after Natasha had decided to stay permanently, thanks to training and Lagos and everything after. Now, at least Natasha was home indefinitely, with nowhere to run off to and no jobs to keep her busy. It gives Laura hope that things can get back to normal more quickly than she knows they probably will.

She gets out of the car and hauls her shoulder bag, heavy with books and papers, out of the passenger seat. There’s no one in the living room when she gets inside, so she drops her bag on the couch and follows her instincts, given the time. When she walks into Lila and Cooper’s room, Lila looks up, smiling widely from where she’s sandwiched between Clint and Natasha on the floor.

“Mommy! I didn’t wanna go to bed til I could kiss you!” Lila reaches out and Laura leans over, picking up her daughter.

“Better?” she asks after ravaging Lila’s face with kisses. Lila nods as Laura adjusts her in her arms, and then it’s Natasha’s turn to look up, this time in confusion. Laura realizes her irritated scowl must show on her face.

“You okay?”

“No,” Laura says shortly. “It’s Friday, and I told my class they could go home early if they wanted. I let them leave at 6:30. They stayed until 8:30! Every single one! I didn’t even _know_ people could like chemistry this much.”

Clint stifles a laugh, and Laura shoots him a look.

“Watch it, Clint. Just because I can’t smack you right now doesn’t mean I don’t want to commit murder.”

Lila looks at Laura and grins. “Murder!” she repeats with a giggle, swaying back and forth. “Murder, murder, all day long! Murder, murder, that’s my song!”

“If I had any doubt about this child being mine,” Clint mutters under his breath, and Laura sighs.

“You said it. I didn’t. Where’s Cooper?”

“He wanted to go to Josh’s house for the night,” Natasha says, nodding towards the door. “Personally, I think he was just trying to get out of weekend chores tomorrow. Speaking of weekend chores, I checked the swear chart earlier.” She grins wickedly, in a way that makes Laura's heart beat a little faster. “Seems Clint and I are neck-to-neck, somehow.”

“Seriously?” Clint looks up in annoyance, his face pained. “How the fuck did that happen?”

“Daddy sweared a bad word!” Lila points towards Clint delightedly as Natasha smirks.

“And now we have a winner.”

Clint narrows his eyes. “Cold, Nat.” He looks at Lila. “Auntie Nat plays dirty, Lila. Don’t grow up to be like her. Also, don't use bad words.”

“Too late,” Laura mutters as Natasha shrugs.

“Not my fault you’re off your game, Hawkeye.” She gets up off the floor. “But _you_ , little monster, are way past your bedtime. Right?”

“Nope!” Lila says with a smirk as Natasha runs her fingers through her hair. “Mommy’s home, so more books!”

Natasha returns her smirk. “I don’t think that was our deal letting you stay up. But mommy can tuck you in, okay?” She kisses Lila, and Clint follows suit. “I love you.”

“Love you more more more,” Lila sing-songs, before leaning into her mom. She grins with a gap-toothed smile. “Books, right?”

“You are going to kill me when you’re older,” Laura says with a sigh, putting her on the ground and pointing to her bed. Lila frowns but obediently walks forward and pulls the covers over her legs.

“Is Wanda coming to play again now that daddy has magic ears?”

Laura shakes her head, glancing at Lila’s decorated bedside table, where she’s been keeping the ring Wanda had given her. “I don’t know, Lila. Maybe.”

“Can I have daddy call her so I can tell her about school?”

“I’ll see,” Laura promises, leaning over to kiss her. “Will you try to go to sleep for me?”

Lila nods, reaching up for a hug. “Love you, mommy.”

Laura’s heart warms at the sight of Lila’s smile. “Love you too, Lila baby.” She shuts off the light and closes the door, then walks into the guest bedroom. Nathaniel is sleeping soundly, and Laura breathes a sigh of relief as she approaches the crib, leaning down to pick him up.

“He fell asleep about an hour ago,” Natasha confirms from behind, her voice soft. Laura places the baby against her shoulder, brushing a hand across his light hair, and turns to find her standing in the doorway.

“Is it wrong that I want to protect him from everything?”

Natasha folds her arms tightly across her chest. “Of course not. Just because you’ve had children before, it doesn’t mean you stop caring about them.”

Laura smiles sadly. “It’s not about how many children I’ve had,” she says quietly, swaying back and forth and feeling the weight of the baby in her arms. “I always wanted to protect them from Clint’s life...from the dangers that you guys experienced. It’s why I made sure they grew up as normal as possible. It’s why we hid so many things from them, even when we knew it was wrong to.” She swallows hard. “He won’t remember this. He won’t remember being taken in the middle of the night to some safehouse, or Clint yelling because he gets frustrated about his injury. But he’s never going to know his father without hearing aids, or without learning how to sign.”

Laura can see Natasha’s cheeks coloring faintly in the dim light of the room. “I’m not sure what our family was supposed to be like, after all of this. But I do know that I never planned for any of us to go through it alone.”

“It’s why you stayed,” Laura says. Natasha nods, stepping closer.

“Because I loved you, and because I spent too many years running when I thought I didn’t have a right to be here. Because I was scared. But yes, that’s why I stayed.”

Laura lets her fingers rest on Nate’s soft skull, pressing her lips against his head. “Come kiss your son,” she says, and Natasha looks at her in surprise.

“It’s still strange to hear you say that, you know. To me.”

Laura smiles as Natasha walks over. “I say it so one day, it won’t be.” She puts Nate down in his crib and he sighs happily, spit bubbling up around his tiny lips as he stretches out.

The calm that Laura’s started to feel is interrupted by a loud crash and heavy thump that causes Laura’s heart to jump into her throat. She rushes out of the room with Natasha on her heels, heading towards the bathroom, where the sounds have come from. Natasha gets there first, and through the half-open door, Laura can see Clint sitting on the floor. Natasha kneels down next to him, and Laura closes the door behind her.

“Everything’s spinning,” Clint mumbles, jerking away from Natasha’s touch.

“I know. Breathe, Clint. Close your eyes, it’s just vertigo.”

Instead of answering, he grabs for the rim of the toilet bowl and leans over. Laura watches helplessly as he throws up, his limbs shaking.

“Okay,” Laura says calmly while Clint retches with his eyes squeezed closed. “Nat, check on the kids and then go downstairs and get ginger ale. I think we have some in the back of the fridge.”

Natasha nods, getting up from the floor. Laura takes her place, putting her hand on Clint’s back.

“I’m right here,” she murmurs. “Just breathe. It’s going to pass, I promise.”

“Hate this.”

“I know.” Laura keeps her voice soft. “It’s okay. You got dizzy. It happens.” She keeps her hands on his torso, supporting him, and gently guides him upright. “Better?”

“Worse.” He tries to pitch forward again and Laura helps him lower his head, running her fingers through his hair.

“Take your time, okay?”

For a few moments, there’s only silence, the hum of the ceiling fan and Clint’s heavy breathing.

“I was brushing my teeth,” he says, finally attempting to raise his head. Laura lets him, largely because she recognizes that if he’s trying to move on his own, he probably trusts himself enough. "And everything started spinning. I got sick.”

Laura picks up a towel, wiping it across his mouth. “You know you don’t have to apologize,” she says gently. “It's not like I've never seen someone throw up before. We do have three kids."

Clint doesn't answer, but he doesn't smile either, and Laura rest her palm against his cheek.

"Come on," she says lightly. "How many times have we done this? How many times have you done this for me, when I was pregnant?” She looks up as the door opens; Natasha’s holding a large glass in her hand and wearing a grim look.

“Nate’s still sleeping, though I don't know how. I swear that child is from another planet. Lila was up, and she came out of her room and saw the bathroom light on. I put her back to bed. I think she’ll be okay, though I would check on her again to make sure.” She hands Laura the glass, who in turn hands it to Clint. He grimaces as he takes it.

“Drink,” Laura instructs, flushing the toilet while Natasha leans against the wall. Clint sighs and takes a small sip.

“I wanna talk about Wanda.”

Laura’s heart skips a beat. “I’m not sure if this is the right time,” she says, glancing at Natasha. Clint groans and takes another sip of ginger ale, swallowing with what looks like a painful gulp.

“It’s never the right time.”

“He’s kind of right,” Natasha offers reluctantly, and Laura sighs.

“I did tell you about my first pregnancy at three in the morning, when we were both exhausted,” she admits, trying to hold on to a memory that seems so long ago -- one that existed before spies and secret lives and injuries and worries. “Can you stand? Without throwing up, I mean.”

Clint nods, and as if to prove himself, he continues to drink slowly. When the glass is fully drained, Natasha takes it from him and puts it on the sink. Laura takes both of his hands in her own, helping him to his feet. He sways dangerously, but stays upright.

“Ears?”

“Ringing. But the aids are in,” Clint says. “Otherwise I wouldn’t hear you, right?”

Laura chooses not to answer that, guiding him out of the bathroom. She lets Natasha walk with him to the bedroom and detours to Lila's room, pushing open the door slowly. Her daughter is curled up on her side, two hands clasped together underneath her head, breathing evenly. Laura decides to not tempt fate and closes the door quietly, returning to the bedroom. Clint is sitting on the bed, pulling off his shirt, which he bunches into a ball and chucks across the room.

“Vertigo comes and goes,” Natasha says as Laura takes off her sweatpants. “Sometimes it lasts for seconds. Sometimes it lasts for hours.”

“I liked you better when you were trying to keep me alive, not giving me medical advice,” Clint grumbles.

Natasha snorts. “I’ve kept you alive for the past ten years, thanks to my medical advice.” She gets into bed next to him and Laura clears her throat, pointing at the third pillow.

“Middle,” she instructs firmly. “You get up too much during the night.”

Natasha’s bottom lip juts out in defiance but she moves, allowing Laura to crawl between them. Laura takes Clint’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” she says. “I’m okay with not knowing for awhile. Really.”

“No,” Clint says, his throat still hoarse and raw from throwing up. “I need you to know. After we were taken, I didn’t see Wanda. Not for awhile. She was taken away separately. I didn’t even know where she was. But we communicated in the Raft with her powers.”

“Her powers?” Laura asks curiously, and she notices even Natasha looks interested.

“Telekinesis,” Clint confirms. “I guess...she never really used it before, but we used it to talk to each other. I was able to at least know that she was okay. I could help her, even though I couldn’t see her.”

“You didn’t see her until you were rescued?” Laura asks gently, trying to guide the story into some sort of narrative she can understand without pushing him too much. It reminds her so much of how she would talk to Natasha, when Natasha wanted to tell Laura things that made her vulnerable. 

“No,” Clint says in a low voice. He rubs at his ear, fumbling with his aid as he talks, a nervous habit Laura's beginning to pick up on. “I wouldn’t leave without her...I made them let me go get her, when we were rescued. She was trapped in another cell. She was locked up. She had a...it was a collar with some lock on it, I don’t know --”

“A straitjacket,” Natasha confirms. “A shock collar that was keeping her immobilized. They had given her a strong combination of drugs to keep her sedated, probably because they didn't want her to use her powers.”

“Oh my god,” Laura murmurs, her stomach tightening into protective knots. “I know they had her in that prison, but she’s...Clint, she’s just a _kid_.”

Clint casts his gaze towards the covers. “I did this,” he says, his voice a low monotone. “If she wasn’t with me --”

“She wouldn’t have gotten out of there at all,” Natasha interrupts from the other side of Laura.

“She also wouldn’t have been in that prison,” Clint says despondently, and Natasha shakes her head.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I _do_." Clint puts all the emphasis he can on the words. "None of you guys went to jail. I knew exactly what I was getting into when we let Cap and Barnes go, Nat. We were letting them go so we could take the fall for whatever consequences that shitbag Ross had in mind for us. I dragged her into that, when she could've stayed out of it all together.”

"You really think Wanda, of all people, would have wanted to stay out of it?" Natasha asks. "Even if she was scared? Clint, she's as bad as you are when it comes to being stubborn and helping people."

"It doesn't matter."

“Clint, you’re a good person,” Laura says, trying to find a way to calm his self-loathing. “You’ve _always_ been a good person. You’re a good dad, a good friend...I'll never let you apologize for your heart. It’s why I love you.” She pauses, looking at Natasha. “It’s why _we_ love you.”

“It's not just Wanda," he says, still not looking at either of them. "I put our family in danger."

Laura’s mouth goes dry, because she hadn't wanted to bring this up now, either. But she knows she will if it means he can be comforted about one thing. “You didn’t.”

“I did!” Clint’s voice rises and Laura gives him a look to tone it down while Natasha stays quiet next to her. “You don’t get it, Laura. It's not like I handed out some files or something. Tony came to visit me in the prison, and he blurted out that I had a family, and I don’t know who heard in that place. There were cameras everywhere. He said it because I lashed out at him, because I was angry...I compromised us because I was only thinking of myself."

“You didn’t,” Laura repeats. “Dad told me.”

Clint’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Laura sighs, leaning her head back against the wall. “Before you came home, I was visiting my parents. I took the kids there so I could get things done around the house. Dad talked to me. He told me that he knew a few people who worked in data entry, from his days in the Air Force. Apparently, ever since you joined SHIELD, even though they didn’t know what your job was back then, mom’s been making phone calls and asking for flaws to be put in our records.”

“Flaws?” Clint asks suspiciously.

“Nothing that would raise flags for the government,” Laura assures him. “That’s what dad told me. We have pretty common names, I guess, especially in the area. So the flaws were small, things would make it easy to misdirect people looking up ways to find us, if it ever came to that.”

“Like Ross,” Natasha murmurs, and Laura nods.

“I didn’t know you put us in danger,” Laura continues, looking at Clint. “But even if I did know, I wouldn’t have been mad. It wasn’t your fault, Clint. If anything, it was Tony’s fault, and that’s not a conversation for now.” She kisses him, feeling his breathing even out. “We’re safe.”

“We are?”

Laura looks around the room. “As safe as we can be. Which is about as safe as we probably have been for all these years.” She leans her head on Clint’s shoulder, still taking in how it feels to have him back and whole and alive.

“I guess we’re all making personal confessions tonight, huh?”

Laura looks at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Natasha looks down at the covers spread over her legs. “I watched them interrogate Barnes,” she says shortly. “When we brought him in, before Clint went to get Wanda. It was…” She pauses, looking at Clint. “It reminded me of when you brought me in. How I was treated. The way I was looked at, like I couldn’t be trusted. I didn't think it was right, the way Steve went after him. But I got it, afterwards. I saw the look in his eyes, that look of giving up because you don't think you've done anything to deserve being forgiven.”

Clint winces. “Shit, Nat.”

“We’re all guilty of something,” Natasha says. “I could have tried to make them see the bigger picture, but I didn’t. And everything that happened, it happened because I was trying too hard to protect myself...to protect this family.” She laughs quietly. “I don’t know how much of me is an agent anymore, honestly. Especially after all of this.”

“Stop it,” Laura says, unable to keep her frustration in any longer. “Stop, just... _stop_ making it seem like it’s a terrible thing to love each other. We have always,  _always_ worked things out and put our family first, but we’ve never thought of it as a bad thing.” She turns to Clint and points to his head. “Take your hearing aids out.”

“Laura?”

“Take them out.”

Clint glances at Natasha, who nods in a half-shrug, and then pries both aids out of his ears, putting them carefully on the bedside table. Laura pulls the covers back over herself and takes one of his hands in her own, drawing a heart into his palm. Then she bends her thumb and pointer finger of each hand, bringing them together to make a heart that she holds in front of his face.

“Great, we’re regressing to toddler speak,” Natasha says flatly as she buries her head into Laura’s shoulder.

“For now. At least until I learn how to at least swear in sign language, which may take awhile.” She smiles as Clint traces a heart back onto her stomach, where her shirt is riding up her torso, swirling the words _I love you_ into her skin. “My children drive me crazy, but I’ve learned things from them. They have the right idea. They know you don’t always need to speak to comfort someone.”

 

***

 

Following a weekend that’s filled with more outings and games than chores or work (a luxury Laura feels she can allow, given that everyone is finally home), Monday at the farm dawns with the first tendrils of winter trying to push their way into the world via a light frost that falls overnight, coating the entire back porch with miniscule crystals. Laura takes care of the morning drop-offs before stopping at the library to check out a new batch of books, and by the time she gets home a few hours later balancing a cupholder with three coffees and a bag of a dozen banana muffins from the farmer's market, she’s made up her mind about the thought she’s been mulling over since the weekend.

“I want you to go see the doctor,” Laura says after she puts her keys and bag away, handing Natasha a non-fat vanilla latte. Clint looks up from where he’s spooning small bites of oatmeal into Nate’s mouth and Laura places his own coffee -- dark roast with no cream or sugar -- on the table next to him.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because I had really bad vertigo this weekend and puked all over the bathroom?”

“Because it's been awhile since your injury, and I want you to get checked out and make sure everything’s okay,” Laura responds firmly. Clint passes a look to Natasha, who suddenly becomes very interested in studying her drink.

“What does my official doctor say?”

“She says don’t look at me,” Natasha responds, sipping her coffee and leaning against the counter. “If it was my decision, I’d veto this altogether because I hate taking you to any kind of doctor. You’re a baby.”

“Come on,” Clint says as Nate grins with a mouth full of strawberry oats. “I just spent, like, weeks in some secret kingdom where people with insane tech played doctor to me. I don’t need to go see a guy in a white coat to tell me what I already know. What are they going to do, confirm I get headaches? Confirm I can’t hear? Oh, maybe they’ll give me an upgrade on these state-of-the-art hearing aids and fix me altogether, and then we can stop pretending we need to have that talk with everyone about learning sign language.”

“Clint, please.” Laura rubs her temples and attempts to ignore his sarcasm. “Humor me. It’s not like I just spent the past few weeks adding years to my age because of your situation. Just make sure everything’s okay. I’ll even bring you, so Natasha doesn’t have to deal with your whining.”

“You really can’t get a better deal than that,” Natasha pipes up, wrapping her hands around her cup and interlocking her fingers as if she's trying to keep the warmth in, even though the heat has been running since last night and the entire house feels like a warm cocoon. Clint moves his hand over the stubble on his chin.

“Yeah, fine. I’ll go, okay?”

The ringing of the house phone interrupts their conversation before Laura can answer, and Natasha wanders out of the kitchen while Laura reaches for the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Barton.” It takes Laura a moment to place the voice, which is professional and high-pitched. “This is Principal Sloane.”

“Hi. Yes.” Laura clears her throat, worry creeping into her bones. “Is everything okay?”

Principal Sloane hesitates before she continues. “I’m calling you let you know that your son acted out today and engaged another classmate in violent behavior. His social studies teacher caught him fighting in the hallway after class.”

“Excuse me?” Laura can’t keep the incredulousness out of her voice, and she turns away so she’s not facing Clint and Natasha. “Are you sure this was Cooper? Cooper Barton?”

“Yes.” Principal Sloane's voice remains unsympathetic. “He apologized, to me and to the other child he hit, but we think it would be better for everyone if he was sent home for the day.”

Laura breathes out slowly, closing her eyes. “Of course,” she says after a moment, trying to collect herself. “I understand. I’ll come pick him up right now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barton. I appreciate it.” The line goes dead, and Laura’s left with the dial tone droning in her ear.

“What’s wrong?” Clint asks immediately when she turns around. Laura slumps against the wall, shaking her head.

“That was Cooper’s principal. She said he got into a fight.”

“ _What_?” Clint asks sharply. He drops the plastic spoon on the tray of Nate’s high chair with a loud clatter, and the baby looks down in confusion, wide eyes wondering where his steady supply of food might have gone.

“I don’t know what happened,” Laura says helplessly as Natasha walks back into the room. “She said he hit someone...Cooper would never...I know he has anger issues sometimes, but I didn’t think he’d ever…”

“I’m going to pick him up,” Clint declares, standing carefully and slowly. Laura shakes her head.

“No.” She looks at Natasha. “Nat and I will go. You’re going to go to the doctor.”

“Laura, for god’s sake!” Clint snaps as Nate starts to cry, doubly fed up with the fact that he's been abandoned by his food and that there's loud yelling. “Don’t you know I’m the reason he probably got into a fight?”

Laura’s heart shatters, because she does know, because inherited traits aside, she can’t help but wonder if it had been good to be true when Cooper had just accepted his dad’s injury without some sort of pushback.

“Laura!”

“Clint.” Natasha’s voice rises over the din of Nate’s crying. “Laura’s right. Showing up right now with all your anger will just make things worse.”

“I’m not angry!” Clint protests as Natasha removes Nate from his high chair and wipes stray pieces of oatmeal off his chin.

“You’re worried,” Natasha points out. “And worry leads to anger, which leads to fighting, which is _not_ what Cooper needs to see from his dad right now, considering that you know the reason he probably got angry in the first place is because of what you’ve been through.”

Clint doesn't answer, looking at Laura and then at Nate, who Natasha has quieted with a pacifier for the time being.

“I’m calling my mom, and she’s taking you to the doctor,” Laura says after a long moment of silence, where Nate’s happy slurping is the only sound echoing throughout the kitchen. “And later, we’re going to talk about everything. As a family.” She fixes him with a look. “You want to continue to push me on this, Clint?”

Clint presses his lips together in defeat and Laura reaches for the phone again, dialing her mom, while Natasha settles Nate back in his high chair.

“What about Nate?” Clint asks when she gets off the phone, gesturing towards the baby.

“Mom will take care of him,” Laura says as she grabs for her coat, motioning for Natasha to follow her. “You don’t need an escort past the waiting room, right?”

Clint glares as Laura walks over to kiss him. She takes her time, letting the kiss soothe him, stroking the back of his neck.

“It’ll be okay.”

She’s not really sure it will be, though, and she knows Natasha can tell she’s not as confident as she pretends to be. When they finally get outside and into the car, Natasha puts her hand on Laura's thigh and squeezes it gently.

“It’s not him,” Laura repeats as they drive away from the house, finally feeling like she can have the outburst she knows she wouldn't have been able to have in front of her husband, for the sake of his own mental state. She flips the visor down against the sun and the car bumps along the road, causing the air freshener in the shape of a beagle to swing wildly.

“It’s not Clint when he gets mad, either,” Natasha reminds her. “He’s still the same person you fell in love with. It’s not me, either, when I get angry and make bad choices. You know that.”

Laura tightens her fingers around the steering wheel. “What if we messed up?” She hates that her voice is shaking so much, but at the same time, she finds herself unable to stop the thoughts rolling through her head. “What if this messes him up? What if he’s never the kid he was before all of this happened? He tries to be tough, you know that, but he's so sensitive and he's still a little boy sometimes. What if this is just the beginning, and it gets worse?”

“Look.” Natasha pushes a hand through her hair. “You said before that all you ever wanted to do was protect your children, right? Sometimes, and yes, I’m going to swear because there are no kids in the car, shit happens. No one is perfect, Laura. Not even you.”

Laura can’t help it; she slams on the breaks and the car jerks to a stop at the red light that’s conveniently changing in front of her. “I _never_ thought I was perfect,” Laura says sharply. “That was always Clint. Making me out to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother. I always had to tell people that nothing about our life was perfect, because it’s not. It’s been hard, and it’s tough and annoying. But it’s messy, and that's why we work. That's why I like it.”

“I know,” Natasha says quietly. She leans over and kisses her. “I know, Laura.”

Laura exhales, realizing she’s unsure about what she’d wanted to accomplish with her tantrum and re-focuses herself, stepping on the gas pedal. When she reaches the school, she parks in the spot nearest to the entrance and walks quickly down the hallway, with Natasha by her side. She pushes open the door to the school office, and immediately spots Cooper sitting on a bench. His head is bowed, his legs swinging back and forth, and when he lifts his head, Laura can see a black eye starting to materialize on the right side of his face.

“Mom! Nat.” He scratches the back of his hand, putting his head down again. “I’m sorry. I swear.”

“I know,” Natasha says, holding out her hand as Principal Sloane opens the door to her office.

“Do you have a moment, Mrs. Barton?”

Laura nods, and Natasha pulls Cooper up gently by the arm. He looks at her, slightly terrified, his split lip trembling.

“You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad,” Natasha says, keeping her voice light. “Let’s wait in the car, Coop.” She ushers him out of the office, and Laura turns back to the principal with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry about this,” Laura says as she follows Principal Sloane inside. “I really am. He’s not someone who would normally act out like this.”

“I’d assume not, since this is the first time Cooper has had an incident like this at school. And judging by his record, it seems like this is also the first time he’s acted out this violently.” Principal Sloane nods towards a folder on the table. “Laura, is everything okay at home?”

Laura blinks quickly. “Of course,” she says, even though the words feel like a lie. Principal Sloane frowns.

“I’m not trying to pry,” she says after a moment, leaning forward on her elbows. “I don’t like to become too involved in the lives of parents and my students, because I know it's not my place to tell them how to raise their child. But I do know that your husband has quite an unusual job. I also know that he travels frequently, and both of those things can put strain on a young child. He was out of school recently, correct?”

Laura nods. “Yes. Only for a few days. It was a family emergency.”

“I understand. But sometimes, abrupt uprooting can also lead to confused feelings.” Principal Sloane pauses. “I also know that you have another woman living with you.”

“So what?” Laura asks, realizing too late how defensive she sounds. Fortunately, Principal Sloane doesn’t seem offended by Laura’s response.

“Nothing. It’s perfectly acceptable in this day and age to have all types of relationships, and Cooper seems well-adjusted overall. But, I do have to wonder if it may be contributing to any issues he’s having.”

“No,” Laura says firmly, trying to keep herself from getting emotional. “I appreciate your concern, I really do, but this has nothing to do with Cooper’s family situation.” She smiles tightly. “I’ll talk to him and I’ll have him write a letter of apology to the student he hit. And I’ll make sure that he attends detention every day this week.”

Principal Sloane smiles back. “Thank you, Mrs. Barton. I’m sorry I had to interrupt your day like this. It’s not my favorite part of being a school principal, by any means.”

“I know,” Laura says heavily, rising to shake hands before walking out of the office. When she gets into the car, she finds that Natasha and Cooper are sitting in the backseat together. Natasha is holding an icepack to his eye, and Laura half wonders if, based on the design, she’d stolen it -- or at least politely requested it -- from the nurse’s office on the way out.

“Sorry,” mumbles Cooper. Laura closes her eyes.

“Yelling at me, or at Nat, or at your dad is one thing. We don’t like it, but we’re family, and we can work it out. But this is different. You can’t do this kind of thing at school, Coop.”

“I know. I messed up.”

Laura turns around in the front seat. “It’s okay. We make mistakes and we learn from them, right? That’s what we do in this family. We don’t get mad because someone does something wrong by accident.”

“No, mom, you don’t understand,” Cooper says, his voice wavering. “I messed up. Dad told me to keep everyone safe, and he got hurt, and now everything’s all different.”

“Coop, you know what happened to dad wasn’t your fault,” Laura says gently. “Is that why you got angry? Because of dad?”

Cooper looks at Natasha as much as he can, given the ice pack on his eye, and Laura sees the guilt leaking into his eyes.

“You have your father’s temper,” Laura says with a sigh when he doesn’t answer. “His anger streak.”

“I know,” Cooper says reluctantly. “Why couldn’t I have gotten Aunt Nat’s things instead?”

“Judging by today’s fight, I don’t think you have to worry,” Natasha says as Laura shoots her a glare. Cooper smiles tentatively, before his face falls again.

“It’s just...it's always dad!” He blurts out. “Nat gets hurt sometimes, and so do you, but it’s always dad! And no one knows what it’s like. I have two moms, dad’s some secret agent...mom, you have all your secrets! Lila accepts it and Nate’s too little, but I don’t know what to do about it! And Nat, you’re my mom but for a long time, you didn’t stay. Was it because I messed things up?”

“Of course not,” Natasha says, looking startled. “I love you, Coop. You know that.”

“But you never _stayed_ ,” Cooper repeats. “I mean, you were around and sometimes you were around more than dad was, but you never stayed, even when I asked. And maybe it was cause of me, cause dad got hurt, cause of me.”

“Oh, Coop. No, it wasn’t.” Natasha puts her arm around him and Laura sees her trying to hide the hurt showing on her face. “I just had a lot of grown-up things to work out. I still do. I made my own mistakes, and it had nothing to do with you. I promise.” She hugs him more tightly. “Let’s go home, okay? We’ll make sundaes and I’ll clean up that eye.”

Cooper nods, and Laura turns back around in her seat. She drives them home in silence, and when they finally get back to the farm, Cooper follows Natasha out of the car hesitantly.

“Coop. Come here.”

Laura closes the car door as Cooper turns around, fear still prominent in his eyes. Laura holds out her arms and hugs her son tightly, knowing he just needs at this moment to know he can still be held and unconditionally loved, despite his mistakes.

“I know this is hard for you, with dad and his hearing, and with everything that happened. I understand it, and I understand why you're angry. But we’re going to figure this out, together,” she promises, kissing the top of his head. “As a family. And I’m still going to be mad about what you did, and you’re going to go to detention and apologize to your classmate, but I love you. I want you to know that. I will _always_ love you.”

“I know, mom.” He pulls back, casting a worried glance towards the house. “Is dad home?”

“He went to the doctor, but he’ll be home later.” Laura pushes her son gently towards the house. “And I have to go pick up your sister from kindergarten soon. In the meantime, Natasha promised sundaes, I think. And it would be a good time to work on writing a letter of apology. Natasha can help you with that, she's good at figuring out what to say when she's made people mad. I have proof.”

Cooper starts walking towards the house and as he turns away, Laura leans back against the door of the minivan, closing her eyes. “This is not what I wanted to deal with before noon,” she mutters to herself, wondering how early is too early to start drinking. She suddenly wishes she was back in college, when Clint still worked at his bar, when it was so easy to just get away from her stress by blowing off responsibilities in favor of pretending that the only thing that existed was the guy she had a major crush on, who made her feel like everything was right in the world.

She thinks of Clint, and decides to take a page out of his book, taking a long walk around the farm to calm herself despite the fact most of the morning frost still hasn’t disappeared. By the time she walks back inside with a face that's flushed red from cold and wind, Cooper is sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of hot chocolate and an empty ice cream bowl, writing on a piece of paper, with Natasha sitting next to him.

 

***

 

Clint returns from his doctor’s visit after Laura has picked Lila up from school, waving in her face an otherwise clean bill of health aside from warnings to take it easy, especially with still-healing ribs and vertigo consistent with traumatic head injuries. Cooper looks acutely terrified when Clint walks through the door, but Clint doesn’t yell or even raise his voice, and instead goes over to his son and hugs him tightly for a long time. Cooper seems to relax a little after that, but dinner that night is still more strained than usual. Laura keeps the conversation going with all the smoothness of someone who is used to tiptoeing around awkward moments and Natasha wonders how many of those awkward moments involved navigating family gatherings with Clint and her parents. Although she hadn’t fully been around when Clint and Laura had started dating, she knew enough from Clint that he wasn’t exactly comfortable with Laura’s father for a variety of reasons.

“Is daddy reading with me?” Lila asks, looking up from her drawing while Laura and Natasha clean up. Laura scrubs at a plate a little harder, until she’s practically trying to break the porcelain.

“Go find daddy and ask him,” Natasha says, picking up a container of leftover green beans. She grabs for the milk and brings it back to the fridge as Lila trails behind her, sticking her thumb in her mouth, abandoning her crayons.

“He went out,” Lila says, talking around her finger. “To th’ barn.”

Natasha gives Laura a look as their eyes meet, and she nods slowly. It wasn’t a coincidence that Clint hadn’t allowed them to talk to him about Cooper, and Laura knew as well as Natasha did that the barn was at least one place he could probably let off steam without being chastised. She grabs a sweatshirt from the laundry basket, one of Clint’s old University of Chicago sweatshirts that she suspects was probably a gift from Laura’s mom, and leaves the house, walking to the barn. When she pulls open the door, she sees Clint dragging a mat across the floor, past the old wheelbarrow and the tractor that hasn't worked in ages.

“What are you doing?”

Clint grunts as he drops the mat. “Working out.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you should be working out?”

“Why not?” Clint asks, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not sick. I’m deaf.”

“You’re weak,” Natasha counters, folding her arms. “You still have vertigo. You spent days in bed, you traveled, and your ribs still need to heal properly. You should still be taking it easy. Even the doctor said so.”

“You gonna order me around like some hospice nurse?” Clint asks with anger in his voice. Natasha takes a deep breath.

“I’m not ordering you around, Clint. I’m trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“So now you care.”

Natasha narrows her eyes. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Clint snorts out a bitter laugh as he throws his arm towards her. “Come on, Nat. You were throwing punches at me left and right at the airport.”

“We talked about this,” Natasha replies. “And I wasn’t going to hurt you. I did everything in my power _not_ to hurt you. Besides, _you_ came at _me_!”

“So it’s my fault, as usual,” Clint says self-deprecatingly.

Natasha sighs in frustration. “You knew that we had to take different sides, if it came down to it. You agreed.”

“Yeah, and I magically got stuck on the side that went against the law, because that’s what I’m good at, right? Breaking the rules? Always disappointing my family. Guess I ended up on the right side after all.”

“And I ended up on the _wrong_ side!” Natasha explodes, fighting the urge to hit him. “Why do you think I let Steve go?”

“You let Steve go and you got slapped on the wrist by everyone!” Clint shouts back, closing the space between them. “I was _arrested_! I was arrested and taken away from my family, and you walked free.”

“I didn’t walk free,” Natasha says coldly, staring up at him and remembering Tony’s words at the hospital. “But I still came home because that’s what a mother does. I made sure Laura and the kids were safe before I did anything else.”

“And you think that makes me feel better?” Clint snaps. “I’m a fugitive, Natasha! You think I can go into town now and show my face with people knowing I’ve been arrested with Captain America? Our names are all over the news! Wanda can’t even leave a secret fucking kingdom!”

Natasha balls her fists together. “This isn’t about us,” she says, even though she knows some of it is. “This is about Cooper. This is about the fact that you’re angry that he got upset, and you think it’s your fault.” She pauses, giving him a chance to respond, and continues on when he doesn’t. “From the first day they were born, you taught your kids how to stand up for themselves. You taught them how to own their feelings so they knew their value. Why do you think Cooper reacted the way that he did at school?”

“Because he’s dealing with three parents and a disabled father and superheroes, and someone who was stuck in jail and broke the law!” Clint bursts out; his eyes are hard but Natasha sees the hurt hiding amongst the anger.

“You chose Wanda. We _let_ you choose Wanda.” The words are barely out of her mouth before Clint’s walking towards her too fast, his fist rising to meet her face. Natasha ducks out of the way long before it tries to make its hit and suddenly, it feels like she’s back at the airport all over again -- she knows she can’t hurt him and doesn’t want to, but she also needs to defend herself, and he’s not backing down.

Natasha grabs his shoulders and knees him in the groin and Clint manages to get a fist to her shoulder. Pain explodes through her arm and she jams her nails into the skin on the side of his neck, trying to get him to back off, because at least she knows his body language well enough to anticipate how he'll fight.

“Stop it!”

Natasha’s aware of the voice screaming, but it sounds far away, almost like she's imagining it. She keeps on hitting, losing herself in the aggression that Clint is emitting.

“ _Stop_!”

A loud crash brings Natasha out of her anger rage, and she drops her arms. Clint, breathing heavily, follows her eyes to where Laura has torn off one of the license plates from the wall and thrown it in their direction. She’s standing behind them, her chest heaving, tears streaking down her face.

“Oh, fuck,” Natasha breathes, suddenly realizing Laura must have seen them fighting and what they had to have looked like. “Laura...I’m sorry.”

“What the hell is going on?” Laura yells, her voice shaking in a way that makes Natasha feel sick.

“We…” Natasha looks at Clint, who has the same guilty look on his face. “We were just sparring.” The words sound empty and weak, as if her voice knows lying is a lost cause.

“That wasn’t sparring,” Laura says, and it sounds like she’s on the verge of a panic attack, trying to remember how to breathe properly. “That was hatred.”

“Laura.” Clint starts walking towards her but Laura backs up, closer to the barn door, and holds out her hands. Clint stops a few meters away and Laura closes her eyes, trying to slow her breathing.

“I love you two more than anything in the world, and you’re fighting!”

Natasha doesn’t know how to respond and so she doesn’t, while Clint reaches out again.

“Laura, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I know we shouldn’t have gotten angry, it’s just...Cooper, and being in prison, and my hearing, and this whole mess --”

“You’re right,” Laura says sharply, her voice stabilizing, though her breathing is still irregular. “You shouldn’t have gotten angry. And I know you, Clint. I know how you are and how you act, and Natasha…I don't care! This is no excuse."

“Look, just let me talk to Cooper.” Clint glances at Natasha, as if he needs her approval to say the words out loud. “I won’t get mad. I promise.”

“No,” Laura says. “No one is talking to anyone until _you_ figure out how to talk about whatever is going on.” She looks at Natasha. “I’m done sitting around and trying to figure out what happened in Germany. I’m done walking on eggshells. I’m taking the kids to mom’s for the night, or until you can tell me that you’re not going to go off the rails again while you hit each other because you can’t just _talk_.” Her voice breaks on the last words. “I’m not putting our kids through seeing you fight like this. Not when they finally have you back.”

Natasha's entire body spasms in pain, and she knows it has nothing to do with their fight. “Laura…”

“I’ll let you say goodnight to them before we go,” Laura says, angrily wiping a hand across her face to hide her tears. Natasha watches her leave helplessly, while Clint stares at the ground in obvious embarrassment and disappointment. Natasha’s not dumb; she knows that even though Clint’s probably still mad, he’s also internally beating himself up over acting so reckless and letting his anger get the best of him at home. As much as he’d let his emotions manifest over the years, Natasha knew home was a different matter entirely. He’d never, ever want Laura to find him engaging so violently, the way he would react at work or in the field.

“She said we could say goodnight,” Natasha says, unable to stand the continued awkward silence, wondering if Laura has a point about their communication. She pulls open the door and walks back towards the house, letting the warmth of the porch light guide her back through the door.

“Mommy says we’re doin’ surprise sleepovers at gramma’s!” Lila says as she looks up from the bottom step. Laura’s helping her pull on a small pair of socks, and a pile of grade-school books are tucked into the bag on the floor.

“You deserve it,” Natasha says, bending down to kiss her as Cooper grabs for his coat. He glances at Natasha with worry in his eyes.

“Is mom leaving because you and dad need to be alone?”

“Yes,” Natasha admits, because she doesn’t think she has it in her to be coy right now.

“Is dad angry?”

Natasha shakes her head. “No,” she says, kissing Cooper. _He is, but he’s more angry at me. And I don’t know how I can apologize_. “But your mom is right. It’s probably good for you guys to get out of the house for a little while. Your dad and I haven’t really had time to talk about things since he left.”

"Yeah."

Cooper walks away and Natasha smiles sadly; it’s both a blessing and a curse that they can more or less be open with Cooper now, but Natasha knows that Laura's right. For all that Cooper tries to be a mature kid, he’s still a little boy at heart.

“Bye, baby,” Natasha whispers as she kisses Nathaniel on the head. He’s squirming around in his baby carrier and gives her a drooling smile, showing three teeth. Clint walks back in the door as Laura is shouldering her bag, and Lila runs into his arms. Cooper waits until Lila and Laura have left the house before he walks forward.

“It’s just for tonight,” Clint promises as Cooper hugs him a little reluctantly. “Remember when I told you that I needed you to understand I might have trouble with things for awhile?"

"I know," Cooper says slowly. He hugs Clint again and picks up his bag, and Clint and Natasha help carry Nate out to the car. Laura finishes buckling Lila in her car seat and then fastens Nate’s carrier into the other seat, before closing the door.

“I love you both,” she says quietly. “You know that. But what I saw in the barn wasn’t my family, even on our worst days. And I need you to figure this out before we figure out everything else.”

Natasha nods. “I know.”

Laura smiles sadly and kisses Natasha, then Clint, before getting into the car. Clint reaches for Natasha’s hand as Laura drives away and they both stand under the darkness, watching the car until it disappears from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY TEAM. Except, I'm not. (Don't worry. I'm not dragging this out, I'm just making you wait in a little bit of pain.)
> 
> Thank you AS ALWAYS for reading and commenting!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexytimes in the beginning of this chapter, FYI.

After Laura leaves, Clint realizes he hasn’t felt this helpless in a long time.

It’s far from the first fight they’ve had over the years, between him and Laura and even between him and Laura and Natasha -- and Clint’s smart enough to know this isn’t really even a _fight_. Laura was mad, and she was upset, but she wasn’t going to leave him. She wasn’t angry enough to scream in his face. It wasn’t like when they had first gotten married and he had gotten so angry that he had literally driven away until they had both calmed down enough to talk about not being on the same page when it came to Clint’s work and his relationship with Natasha at the time.

The thing is, Clint’s starting to wonder if Laura had a point in stepping away. He was angry at Natasha, though his injury had made it hard for him to articulate that frustration. And Clint knows deep down that part of the reason he’s been hesitant to talk to Cooper is because he's been afraid of how he’ll react. And since when had he ever been afraid of facing his own damn  _family_?

 _Too many failures_ , he thinks as he walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He looks around the room, his eyes finding the bed, where Laura’s leather bound journal is lying on the pillow. Judging by the pen hastily stuck between the pages, Clint figures she must have been sidetracked from writing before dinner and their fight. He sits down and picks it up, running his hands over the worn binding, his mind settling on Wanda. He had failed Wanda as a surrogate father, as someone who was supposed to protect her. He had failed Pietro as a mentor, as someone who was supposed to look out for him. He had failed Cooper as a father, as someone who was supposed to understand how to control his emotions.

“Hey,” Natasha says, her voice filled with exhaustion. Clint looks up as she enters the bedroom, and instantly feels bad when he notices the bruises darkening on her cheeks.

“You hurt?”

It seems to take Natasha a moment to understand what he means, and she shakes her head. “No more than when you miss a punch in sparring. You?”

"Ears are ringing a little." He tosses the journal to the side, and Natasha’s eyes narrow.

“Is that Laura’s journal?”

“I wasn’t reading it,” he says defensively, and Natasha folds her arms.

“I believe you. If you’re not too tired, I thought maybe we could work on signing.” She gestures towards the bookshelf. “Laura got some books out of the library last week.”

Clint follows her gaze, and then looks at Natasha again. “I think I just want to stay up here for a little bit and rest. If that’s -- if that’s okay.”

Natasha swallows and nods. “Yeah,” she says, backing out of the room and closing the door again. Even without being in each other's presence, there’s an awkwardness that can’t be ignored, and it makes Clint want to scream. He takes his aids out of his ears, relishing in the silence that his injury allows him to have.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep -- he really doesn’t -- but emotional exhaustion along with physical exhaustion from their fight gets the best of him. The next thing he knows, he’s waking up with a start from yet another dream where he’s watched Pietro die, his heart pounding in his chest when he realizes it’s dark and he can’t hear anything.

_Easy...you’re okay. You’re home. You’re here. It was a dream, and you just have your aids out._

He repeats the mantra as he pulls himself awake, trying to get his mind of out the panic mode it seems to be permanently stuck in, and steadies himself against the dizziness that's trying to swallow him. He can’t lie and say that the dreams from Sokovia had ever really stopped, but ever since the Raft, he knows they’ve reappeared more often. Clint rubs a hand over his face, noting the uneven scruff covering his chin and cheeks. A quick glance at his phone, which is lying on the night table, shows that it’s well past midnight. Even so, he’s slowly realizing Natasha’s nowhere to be found, and Clint figures it’s either because she’s too mad to sleep in the same bed or she can’t sleep herself.

Clint gets up, putting in his aids. As he drags himself out of bed and down the stairs, he realizes he can hear the television, though the volume is set so low it might as well not be on at all. There’s some infomercial blaring; he can hear the rapid talking of the man who is trying to sell his latest gadget to the current night’s insomniacs. Natasha isn’t in the living room, though. She’s sitting by herself at the kitchen table, drinking steadily from a bottle of whiskey. Clint opens his mouth, then closes it before he can say any words, because he realizes he’s not actually sure _what_ to say other than apologize for falling asleep.

“I, uh...I was thinking,” Natasha starts thickly, without looking up. “Remembering, actually.”

Clint frowns, a bit relieved he doesn’t have to try to start the awkward conversation. “Remembering what?”

Natasha picks up the bottle, holding it unsteadily by the neck, and swallows down more whiskey. “Lila’s birth. The day she was born. That small face...that innocence.” She finally looks up, and Clint notices her eyes are bright. “She was so innocent, Clint. She didn’t know what people in the world were capable of.”

“She still doesn’t,” Clint points out, sitting down at the table. He nods towards the bottle and he almost expects Natasha to pull it away on principle. Instead, she slides it over. As she does so, he catches sight of her phone lighting up on the table and his forehead creases in confusion.

“Are you really playing Candy Crush?”

“Blowing up jelly relaxes me,” Natasha shoots back, grabbing for her phone and shoving it into the pocket of her sweatshirt, as if she’s embarrassed by the discovery. “Besides, I can’t exactly go shoot a gun right now.”

“You should try that Tsum Tsum game,” Clint offers. “Same thing, you just blow up those round fluffy characters instead of candy. It makes no sense to me, but Lila loves it.” He pauses, and then takes a long drink of whiskey, hoping that maybe he can somehow summon liquid courage to say what he wants to say.

“You wanna drink, or you wanna apologize?” Natasha asks as he puts down the bottle, and Clint cringes.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Natasha snorts, her eyebrows rising in an expression that shows she clearly didn’t expect him to do the latter. “You’re actually apologizing? That’s a first.”

“No, really.” Clint ignores her sarcasm. “I’m sorry. You were right. I was upset about Cooper and upset about all the stuff that happened while we were away, but this whole thing started because of me. We fought because of me. Laura left because of me.” He drinks more, the liquor sliding down his throat bitterly. “Do you remember what happened at the airport?”

Natasha looks up in confusion. “What?”

“Something you said to me. While we were fighting at the airport.”

“I…” Natasha trails off, and Clint notices her cheeks are more flushed than usual. “I only remember fighting. Or trying to fight. What did I say?”

“You asked me if Laura would be disappointed,” Clint says, his voice straining. “And I asked if she would be disappointed in you, or in me.”

“She would be disappointed in both of us,” Natasha answers softly, reaching for the bottle. As she does so, she leans forward, and Clint watches her gaze settle on the many school photos and drawings that he knows are littering the front of the fridge.

“Do you know what I did, after HYDRA?”

Clint watcher her drink more, carefully assessing how he wants to respond. “You mean after you came back to the farm?”

Natasha nods, and Clint shrugs. “You said you went back to the Red Room.”

Natasha hands him the bottle. “Yeah. I did. But I also tried to find my parents...well, what was left of them.” She pauses. “I didn’t tell you that part.”

Clint stares at her in surprise, one hand resting on the neck of the bottle. “No. You didn’t.” He swallows down multiple questions in favor of a simple one he knows she might actually answer. “Why?”

Natasha looks suddenly uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” she admits, biting down on her lower lip. “After HYDRA...I felt like I had lost the only family I had. SHIELD had been a foundation of me from the moment you brought me in. It gave me something to fight for. I built everything on it, because it was the first thing I had to hold onto, aside from you. But then, all of a sudden, I lost it. I lost SHIELD, I lost Nick...I wanted to see if maybe there was a part of me I could find in the place that had been my first real home,” she finishes, smiling weakly. Clint stays silent, knowing better than to push her.

“I didn’t, if you’re wondering,” Natasha continues. “I didn't find them. All I found were two little gravestones. I don’t even know if they were really buried there. It’s just what the old lady who owned the bakery next door told me. Better than nothing though, right? I had to believe they would be memorialized somewhere and not just forgotten. Anyway, I left flowers. Roses, actually. My dad really liked roses.” She lets her voice drop. “I don’t know what I expected to find. I knew they wouldn’t be alive. They couldn’t be, not after giving me up all those years ago. It was a false hope. But, it was a hope.”

“Natasha…”

“I lost the only family I ever had, and I needed a home again. And then I realized, despite everything, _this_ was still standing. This family. This house. We have what we have while we have it, and...and I realized how stupid I would be if I threw that away. I came back because of you and Laura.”

Clint rubs his forehead, trying to absorb everything Natasha’s said in the past few minutes. “I thought it was because of Fury.”

Natasha’s mouth lifts in a half-grin. “That’s what most people would think. That’s what I told you. Because I still...I don’t know. It’s been years, Clint, and I still don’t know what I’m doing sometimes. I love Laura, and I love you. But maybe I don’t know how to be present like this.”

“Come on, Nat.” Clint’s aware he sounds tired and frustrated, but he doesn’t bother to hide his emotions. “We’ve been through this.”

“Tony…” Natasha trails off, looking pained. “After the fight, Tony called me out. He was angry I helped Steve. He accused me of not being able to figure out my loyalties. He was upset because Rhodey had gotten hurt, but he also wasn’t wrong. I was confused. I was trying too hard to protect the people I loved, just like you were. Just like we always said we would.”

Clint finds he doesn’t know what to say, so he takes the bottle and drinks more. “I didn’t know any of this.”

“You wouldn’t,” Natasha points out. “We never talked about it. We never had the chance.”

“Not with this,” Clint says, gesturing to his ears. Natasha puts a hand on his arm and squeezes it gently.

“I would have given anything to trade places with you, once I found out what they did. If it meant you could get out, come home, be here with Laura.”

Clint swallows, his throat dry and stinging with the aftertaste of alcohol, a heaviness settling in his gut. “I don’t regret helping Wanda,” he says slowly. “I just regret being selfish. A lot of people think SHIELD is the hardest job, but I think the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was be a parent. I put a lot of pressure on myself for so many years...I just wanted to be a good dad.”

Natasha ducks her head, finding his eyes. “You _are_ a good dad. And Cooper’s been through a lot, Clint. If he didn’t act out like this, I would’ve been surprised.”

“I guess,” Clint says reluctantly. “I’m just...I’m worried he’s becoming too much like me.”

“He’s already too much like you,” Natasha says lightly, and Clint shoves his head into his hands, knowing he can’t hide the glassiness from his eyes. Natasha sighs, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet.

“You called me Tasha here.”

Clint looks up at that, trying to stop his head from spinning. “I called you Tasha here a lot, yeah. And in other places.”

“I know,” Natasha says. “But you said it here, the first time. _Here_.” She puts emphasis on the last word and nods behind him, and he stares at her, because he knows she’s asking him to remember the first time Natasha had truly tested herself with him -- the first time she attempted to break down the walls between Natalia and Natasha, to see which one he would really trust in his own home.

“It’s a safe space,” Clint says after a moment, and Natasha leans back in her chair.

“She hated having to leave. After you were taken away.”

Clint suddenly feels guilty all over again. “Was she --”

“Scared? Really, Clint?” Natasha smiles in a way that Clint recognizes as her settling on a memory that makes her feel both sad and happy at the same time. “Laura was angry that I had forced her out of the house, because I couldn’t tell her why I was worried or what I was afraid of. I know you’re upset because you think you ruined this space for her after what we did tonight. But I think I ruined it already. The house is still our home, and it always will be, but it will always have that feeling of being compromised, now. And I think we have to accept that.”

Clint’s stomach drops, because he wants to believe that maybe he _wasn’t_  to blame for all of this like he’s been thinking he is. But as much as Natasha had been the first to leave, and as much as they couldn’t have predicted Lagos or Ross or the Accords, Clint knows a majority of everything that’s happened _is_ his fault.

“I could’ve stayed home,” he says when he speaks again. “I could’ve stayed out of it and this wouldn’t have...Nat, what if I messed this all up?”

“You didn’t mess it all up,” Natasha confirms softly, getting up. Before Clint can get up as well, she’s standing by his side and pulling him to his feet, wrapping her arms around his waist. She kisses him, long and slow, and he can feel and hear his heart beating loudly inside his chest.

“Breathe,” Natasha says in the same quiet voice, working her fingers through his hair. Clint does, exhaling into her mouth, and in doing so he feels a part of his broken body slide back into place. It was usually Laura who did that -- Laura, who could mend him while Natasha was the one that allowed his flaws to open up and grow unashamedly -- but Clint realizes with a start how long it’s been since he’s touched Natasha like this. Even with her renewed commitment to their family, intimate moments had been far and few between for all of them.

“It’s been awhile,” he murmurs as he breaks the kiss, and Natasha nods.

“Yeah,” she says, letting her fingers move down the side of his face. She stops near his ear, and gently starts to pry one of the hearing aids out, meeting his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Clint swallows and nods, and Natasha finishes taking the aid out.

“Okay?” she asks in a whisper, so soft he can barely hear her. He nods again, and she takes her hands away and makes the shape of an “O” before bending the fingers into half a fist and leaving one raised and one slightly bent.

He only knows a small amount of sign language from his days in the military and his beginnings at SHIELD, but he does recognize simple words. He smiles and Natasha returns to kissing him, and then takes the other aid carefully out of his ear, putting them on the table.

And then, it’s quiet. There’s nothing -- not the sound of Natasha’s breathing as they kiss, not the sound of his own breathing as he kisses back, not the sound of his back hitting the table as she pushes against him, or the ceiling fan spinning in the living room. He can’t hear. He can feel, though: he can feel her breath against his face, warm and filled with the scent he always associates with Natasha -- not dangerous and gunpowder-filled, not anymore, but dusty and heavy and warm and comfortable. With his eyes closed, it’s almost as if he’s blind as well as deaf, every other working sense overwhelming him. Natasha reaches down and strokes his burgeoning erection through his sweatpants, her fingers ghosting over the hard mass, and even through fabric it’s enough to make his knees buckle. She steadies him and then pulls away as he opens his eyes, holding his gaze as she undresses fully, motioning for him to do the same.

Clint does, hastily stepping out of his pants and boxers, pulling his shirt over his head. Natasha takes him by the hand and he wonders if she’s going to bring them upstairs, but instead, she leads him to the couch, pulling him down on top of her.

She lets him kiss her, he notices -- sometimes, with him and Natasha, they guide each other, and sometimes, like after New York, Natasha is the one that lets him take the reigns. He kisses her neck, moving his lips down her throat and swirling his tongue against the skin at her collarbone before pushing himself up on his arms and licking his way down her chest, taking her exposed breast in his mouth. He bites down and he can’t hear if she responds, but he can feel the way her body tenses, and it makes him smile. Clint pulls back, keeping their eyes locked, and starts fingering her clit until he can draw the same reaction out of her. He lowers himself into her, angling just the right way, years of experience touching her body allowing him to easily maneuver himself. He doesn’t have to wonder if he’s in correctly; he feels Natasha buck up and he can almost hear the moan and gasp that she’s emitting as he pushes in.

It’s strange, like this -- completely silent, as if he's stuck in his own mind or a dream, not even the sound of the creaking of the couch as they move. In a way, it’s scary, but it's also sensual and more intense than he would have expected. Natasha keeps her hands firmly on his body and her touch is enough to remind him that he’s here, he’s with her, and everything is okay. He speeds up as Natasha’s thighs start to tighten and pulls out right before he knows he’s going to come, cupping his hands around his dick to stop himself from making a mess.

“Sorry,” he says breathlessly, even though he can’t hear his voice. Natasha arches her neck back, sweat dripping down her throat, and closes her eyes. Clint somehow manages to get up with minimal issue and he hobbles to the kitchen, where he cleans himself up, washing his hands thoroughly before putting his aids back in.

“At least it didn’t get on the couch.” Natasha’s sitting up now, and he realizes both of them are still fully naked. She smiles, and he smiles back, reading the expression in her face.

“Laura’s going to be pissed we had sex without her, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees. “She is. But I think she’ll forgive us if we tell her we’re no longer ready to kill each other. At least, for now.” She holds out a hand and Clint laughs under his breath as he lets her lead him out of the living room and up the stairs. Neither of them bother with actual bedtime rituals -- it’s late enough already -- and Natasha curls up in bed resting her hand on Clint’s heart.

“We’ll make it. I promise.”

Clint closes his eyes and tries to forget why they’re alone in the bed to begin with, and tries to let Natasha anchor him.

They still had a long way to go, but this was a start.

 

***

 

Laura makes it more than halfway to her parents’ house before Cooper opens his mouth, and truthfully, she’s surprised it’s taken him this long.

“Hey, mom?”

“Yeah?” Laura glances at Cooper, who is sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat. Cooper turns around and looks at Lila, who is snuggling up with Nate and trying to keep him amused in the backseat.

“I love you. And it’s okay if you’re mad at dad and Nat.”

Laura’s eyes well up just enough for the road to blur in front of her, though she manages to get her emotions in check by the time she stops the car. Her mom raises an eyebrow when she opens to the door to find her daughter and three of her children in tow, Lila rubbing her eyes tiredly and Nate fussing in his carrier, but she doesn’t question anything.

Despite her mom offering her peace and quiet in the basement, away from her children in their respective guest bedrooms, Laura elects to sleep in her old room for the night. In the absence of Clint and Natasha, she knows she needs some sort of comfort, and that sleeping alone in a chilly basement isn’t going to do her mind any favors. While her mom puts Lila and Cooper to bed, she sequesters herself behind a closed door and takes out a book on American Sign Language. As she reads and tries out letters with her hands, she holds Nate in the curve of her arm, watching him roll his head back and forth until he gets bored and starts crying.

“Oh sweetheart, what’s the matter?” Laura snuggles him and tickles his nose. “Don’t cry for mommy, she’s going to make you feel better.” She grabs him under the arms and places her on top of her head, bouncing up and down in place. In the large mirror on the opposite wall, Nate catches a glimpse of his reflection and starts to smile again, his heavy lower lip jutting out as spit foams at his mouth, and Laura laughs along with him.

“My little boy,” she murmurs, taking him off her shoulders and kissing his mossy-colored hair. “You make mommy feel so safe, you know that?”

“Laura?” Elizabeth knocks hesitantly on the door before pushing it open. “I wasn’t sure if I could come in.”

Laura rolls her eyes, adjusting Nate in her arms. “Of course you can come in, mom. I’m not thirteen anymore. The only scandalous thing you’re probably going to walk in on me doing is breastfeeding.”

Elizabeth smiles. “Can I?”

Laura nods, gently handing the baby over. Nate squeals with delight in his grandmother's arms, before burping and filling the room with the smell of canned carrots.

“I think he’s going to be the only one of my children who doesn’t have dark hair,” Laura admits. “Lila’s pretty light, and Cooper’s darkened, but Nate’s still pretty blonde.”

“Wasn’t Clint blonde as a child?”

Laura finds she can’t respond and Elizabeth frowns as she shifts Nate to her other arm, nodding towards the bed. “You’re not busy, are you?”

Laura looks down at the open book and closes it carefully. “Not really. I wanted to try to get some of this sign language stuff in my head, but I’m having a hard time making it stick.”

“I think I still remember a few tricks from that class I taught down in Virginia,” Elizabeth says, keeping her voice soft. “Is there anything you want to talk about? Maybe something that’s making it hard for you to focus?”

Laura smiles tightly. “I don’t think you can help me with this, mom.”

“Are you sure?”

Laura looks down at the covers. “I don’t know,” she admits honestly. Elizabeth inclines her head, giving Laura a long look.

“Can I put him to sleep?”

Laura nods and gets up to kiss her son before Elizabeth brings Nate out of the room. Once she’s gone, Laura opens the book back up, staring at another page of confusing figures and hand gestures, before closing it sharply. She takes advantage of the time alone to change into her pajamas, brushing her teeth and washing her face in the hall bathroom before returning to bed. She’s aware that she’s being slightly pathetic, but at the moment, she doesn’t care.

“I’m not sure where this baby came from,” Elizabeth comments when she returns to the room empty-handed. “I can’t remember any of your children being this well-behaved.”

“Tell me about it,” Laura groans. “And Lila was a pretty good baby.”

“Better than Cooper,” Elizabeth reminds her as she sits down on the bed. Laura tries to smile as her stomach ties itself into tight knots. Elizabeth seems to notice, because she reaches out and touches Laura’s arm. “You know you’re always welcome, but why did you really come here tonight, Laura-love?”

Laura draws her knees up under the covers. “Clint and Nat are having some problems.” She pauses, because it still feels strange to talk about all of this so openly with her mom, and also because they haven’t had any real serious discussions about their relationship yet.

“Work?” Elizabeth asks.

“Kind of. You know what happened to Clint with his hearing, and I think...I think he’s having a really hard time. I mean, I know he is. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Do you need to?” Elizabeth asks smartly as Laura stretches out in bed. “I know Clint’s the one who always fixes things, but Laura’s the one that allows things to break.”

“Only because he’s not home half the time, and we didn’t have Natasha for awhile, and I had three children driving me crazy,” Laura says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t _want_ this to break, mom. I don’t like that my family’s not on the same page. I don’t...I try to forget about it, but sometimes, all I can think about is that we’re all so different.”

“How?”

Laura considers this; somehow, the fact that her mom isn’t asking anything more than a simple question makes it easier for her to answer.

“Clint and I...we have what we have. We came into this the way most people do. He was working at a bar, I was in school...everything we ever dealt with, we dealt with the normal way, and maybe there were some times when he was working at SHIELD that it wasn’t normal, but we were cut from the same mold. But Natasha and Clint built their relationship on so much violence. I’m not...I would never act the way they did when they got angry with each other, fighting the way they do.”

“Didn’t you always want Natasha to feel like she belonged with you, no matter how she acted, because you knew she was having a hard time fitting in with you and Clint and your _normal_ marriage?”

“Of course,” Laura agrees. “But --”

“In my opinion, that means allowing her and Clint to have the relationship they’re used to, even if you don’t like it,” Elizabeth continues, cutting her off. “Unless, of course, it becomes harmful.”

Laura hesitates. “It could have been harmful. They were fighting badly. They were hurting each other, and I know it wasn’t just them messing around. I felt bad leaving, but I didn’t want the kids to see it. I can’t do this to them anymore, mom. I can’t. Cooper and Lila are already asking so many questions...”

Elizabeth strokes Laura’s hair. “Cooper told me what happened at school.”

Laura looks up in surprise. “He did?”

“Yes. I think either Natasha drilled some guilt into him, or he felt bad enough that he wanted to say something.”

Laura tries to smile at her mother’s light tone. “Clint was so upset. Cooper was upset, but Clint blames himself for Cooper acting that way.”

“And you?”

Laura blinks back tears. “I don’t blame Clint,” she says softly. “I could never blame him. But I wish he could see how hard he’s being on himself and how hard that is on the kids...on us.”

Elizabeth sighs and leans back next to Laura, putting her arm around her shoulders. “You kept Natasha from us for a long time,” she says. “I understand why. And I know that you might feel strange talking about it. But you don’t have to keep all your hardships from us. Relationships take work, Laura, and most people don’t deal with what you’ve chosen to have in your life. Three kids, two spouses…”

“In other words, you think I’m crazy,” Laura finishes. Elizabeth smiles.

“No. I don’t think you’re crazy, Laura-love. I think you’re stubborn. Just like your children. Just like your husband.” She kisses her on the head. “But someone has to compromise, because even though this may be the first time something like this has happened, it won’t be the last. And you love your family too much to keep having these issues.”

“I know,” Laura admits. She gives her mom a hesitant grin. “Did you ever think you’d be talking to me about how to manage a polyamorous relationship?”

“No,” Elizabeth says. “Not at all. But at the rate you were going, we thought you were going to never settle down because no one would ever be good enough for you. Guess we should’ve realized you’d go for the unconventional route.”

“By marrying an ex-Marine bartender? Or falling in love with an assassin spy from Russia?”

“Both,” Elizabeth says with a wink as she gets up. Laura laughs and thinks of her children sleeping near her, and of the life she’s made for herself with Clint and Natasha. She finds herself wondering if they’ve actually made up, and if leaving like this has even made a difference, and she suddenly misses being surrounded by the two people she loves more than she can express.

“I guess it could be worse.”

“Worse than being loved and having a family that loves you back?” Elizabeth smiles as she walks towards the door. “Yes, Laura. It could.”

 

***

 

Clint wakes up confused, given that there’s only one body on his side instead of the two he’s gotten used to. At first he thinks it’s just Laura, like it usually is, before he turns his head and smells the hair attached to the face pressed into his armpit.

“Mmmmmmfg?”

Clint groans and squints at the window, which is filtering in a healthy amount of light, and then gropes for his phone.

“If you’re asking what time it is, it’s only seven.”

Natasha doesn’t answer, grabbing for the covers instead and shoving them over the part of her head that isn’t already covered in blankets. Clint smiles and leans over to kiss her; she’s still warm and smells like last night’s sex and there’s something comforting about it. Maybe Natasha had been right. Maybe he _had_ been thinking of his own home as some place that had been compromised, even if he didn’t realize it, and that’s why it felt so hard to return to something resembling comfort.

He hauls himself out of bed and pulls on a clean pair of boxers and ripped t-shirt from one of Cooper's recent soccer tournaments, more or less stumbling to the bathroom to brush his teeth. After staring at his reflection for far too long, he picks up his razor and starts to shave off the more unruly parts of his goatee, which is starting to look more and more like a full beard.

" _Dammit_!"

He jumps in the silence as his own voice echoes too loudly in the bathroom, and then grabs for a tissue, wiping the underside of his neck where he's nicked himself by accident. He manages to finish up with no other injuries other than stubbing his toe on the bathroom door, and then steps into the hallway. It’s quiet, but it’s a quiet that he’s not used to. Even if everyone was sleeping (a rare occasion, now that Nathaniel was around), there were things that made the home feel slightly alive: Laura or Natasha tossing and turning in the creaking bed, the wind slapping the windowpanes repeatedly during a particularly cold night or morning, Cooper mumbling to himself in his sleep. He puts one hand on the railing and closes his eyes; the silence reminds him of when he first returned home from the lake house, right before he left to get Wanda. He shakes off the memory as much as he can, walking downstairs to start the coffee.

Clint's read the paper, watched enough of the news, and gotten two chapters into his new book by the time Natasha finally makes her way downstairs. She’s dressed herself in one of Laura’s old flannel shirts, the one that has paint stains on the sleeves, and doesn't bother to say good morning as she walks past him towards the counter.

“Laura texted me this morning.”

Natasha grabs for the carafe and starts pouring coffee into the cup Clint’s left next to the machine. “Anything good?”

Clint reaches for his cell phone. “Poop emoji, poop emoji, poop emoji. Sunglass emoji, smile emoji, heart emoji.”

“So...shit, shit, shit, shit, it’s cool, I’m happy, I love you?” Natasha asks, taking a sip of coffee.

“Well, yeah. That, or Lila took Laura’s phone again. Apparently emoji talk is all the rage when it comes to kids these days.”

“I’m not surprised.” Natasha joins him at the table. “Did she say anything else?”

“Yeah.” Clint nods. “Said she was taking the kids to school, then having breakfast with her parents, then she was gonna come home. She didn’t ask if we were...you know. Okay.”

“I don’t suppose you told her that we had impromptu make-up sex on the couch, did you?”

Clint shakes his head, and Natasha smiles faintly. “Oh, I can’t _wait_ to see her face later.”

Clint laughs, and it feels a little like things are back to normal, so much so that he half expects Laura to walk into the kitchen and roll her eyes at the conversation.

“So we’re...we are? Okay?”

Natasha eyes him steadily. “Are we?”

Clint knows the answer as well as she does -- the same reason they don’t promise things when they go away on assignments. They’re never going to be perfect, even as a family. But that messiness, he knows, is what holds them together. And as long as there were a few threads of understanding woven into that messiness, things were good.

“I think so,” he says carefully. “I can try to be, at least.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Natasha agrees, getting up and walking to the refrigerator. She opens it and makes a face. “I should tell Laura she needs to shop. The only breakfast food I see in here are eggs, and I don’t want to cook anything.”

“There’s leftover waffles in the freezer,” Clint offers with a wave of his hand as Natasha starts digging through the shelves. She emerges victorious and pops two frozen waffles in the toaster before opening the windows over the sink, letting a crisp breeze weave its way into the kitchen.

“Can you talk to Cooper later?”

Clint’s breath catches in his throat, but he nods. “Yeah. I need to.”

“Yes, you do,” Natasha says unsympathetically. “Don’t think last night’s sex was for nothing. I don't expect you to use it as an out.”

“Yeah, I forgot _that_ Natasha Romanoff comes out during family negotiations,” Clint grumbles, sitting back in his chair.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “As opposed to _another_ Natasha Romanoff?”

Clint opens his mouth to respond, but he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. He exchanges a puzzled glance with Natasha, because they both know Laura would use her key.

“Want me to get it?”

“No,” he says, getting up, trying to forget that they’re now in a place where they have to worry about who knocks on the damn door. Despite what Laura had told him the lengths her parents had gone to keep them somewhat hidden, he knows it’ll take awhile before he gets used to feeling normal again. “I’ll get it.”

“Yell if you get shot,” Natasha says dryly, but there’s an undercurrent of danger in her voice, and Clint knows that if he _did_ yell, she would drop her waffles and grab a kitchen knife in defense. He walks towards the front door, opening it slowly, sighing in relief when he sees Hannah on the other side.

“Clint?”

“Yeah.” Clint smiles, probably a little too brightly. “Hi.”

“I didn’t know you were back.”

“Haven’t really been making the rounds,” Clint replies easily, and Hannah frowns.

“They said on the news you had been arrested.”

Clint blinks quickly, trying not to let Hannah’s words throw him off. “Well, clearly, I’m no longer arrested.”

Hannah nods, and then her face relaxes into an easy smile, one that Clint knows is rooted in genuine happiness. “I’m sorry. It’s just...I know Laura really missed you. She must be so happy you’re back.”

“Yeah,” he repeats, because suddenly, he doesn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that he didn’t think his face was all over the news -- he has no idea how his kids have managed to avoid it, if they have at all -- but he’s realizing that he actually has no idea what the world does or doesn’t know about Clint Barton, Hawkeye, former Avenger, aka the man in the flannel shirt and coffee stained pants who buys meat in town every Sunday morning while listening to Taylor Swift on his iPod.

Hannah peers around him as Clint lapses into silence. “Is Laura here? She told me to stop by, we were going to do some shopping while the kids were at school.”

“She…” Clint trails off. “She had to go to visit her parents this morning.” He’s grateful that it’s a school day; not that Hannah would be suspicious about not having the kids running around the house, but it was a lot easier this way to explain the quiet.

“Oh.” Hannah looks concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Clint quickly. “Just a last minute thing. She should be back soon.”

Hannah looks wistful. “Well, I guess I’ll text her and see if it’s worth waiting around. If she gets home before noon, let her know I stopped by?”

“Sure thing,” Clint agrees as Hannah leans forward and hugs him.

“Is Natasha -- is she back with you, too?”

Clint nods, because he sometimes forgets Hannah’s pretty much the only person outside of Laura’s family who truly knows about their relationship.

“I’m glad.” Hannah pulls away and smiles again. “Welcome back, Clint. Come over anytime, Dave would love to see you.”

“Thanks,” he says, waving her off as she backs down the porch. He closes the door and when he walks back into the kitchen, Natasha’s shoving the last of the waffles into her mouth.

“Oh, good. You’re not dead.”

Clint chuckles under his breath. “I’m not,” he says, reaching for the phone. “Hannah came by. She was supposed to go out with Laura.”

Natasha nods, brushing crumbs off her shirt. “And?”

“Well, apparently she heard about what happened,” Clint says, sending a quick text to Laura. Natasha reaches for her coffee and raises both eyebrows. “She heard about me getting arrested,” Clint clarifies off her look, and Natasha sighs.

“Well, I’m not surprised.”

Clint narrows his eyes. “You didn’t see the news?”

Natasha looks at Clint and shakes her head slowly. “No, Clint. Not really. I was kind of too busy trying to figure out how to get you out of prison, remember?”

He wants to challenge her, the frustration rising in him again, but he takes a breath and forces it away. Natasha steps closer, still holding her coffee, and kisses him on the lips. She tastes like caffeine and morning breath and a hint of Laura’s peppermint mouthwash.

“I’m going to get out and go to the store before Laura gets home."

Clint looks at the mess of dishes in the sink and nods. "Wanna take the truck?"

"Nah. It's nice out, and I could use the walk. Do me a favor and clean up, so she doesn’t think we just had sex around the house.”

It’s a simple enough task for him, and one that allows his mind to focus on something that’s not their current situation, no matter how much better things are. While Natasha gets dressed, he starts washing dishes from breakfast and runs the dishwasher. By the time Natasha's left, he's changed the sheets upstairs and started a load of laundry. He changes the bedding in Cooper and Lila’s room for good measure, as well as the padding on Nathaniel’s crib, and picks up a few stray toys from the floor of the bedroom. He can practically hear Natasha yelling at him when he stops at the fridge to grab a midday beer, but, well. Natasha wasn’t here. Laura wasn’t, either. And for once, there were no kids in the house.

He was a former bartender, after all. He could drink during the day if he wanted to.

“Clint?”

Clint’s in the middle of going through old bills stuffed into the utility drawer when the back door opens, and Laura steps into the kitchen, holding Nate in her arms. Clint immediately straightens up and turns around clutching a handful of papers. Laura looks tired, he notices; she's wearing the same shirt she had on when she left and her purple cardigan is wrinkled and stained from what he thinks might be Nate's spit-up. Her eyes are tinged with the slightest bit of red, but Clint also sees that thankfully, there’s no anger in her eyes. At the sight of her, he feels something break, like a switch that's been turned to full power.

“I’m sorry. I thought I’d come in the back because I stopped at Hannah’s, and it was easier to walk this way --”

Clint cuts her off, dropping the envelopes and bills on the floor and taking her in his arms. He snuggles both her and Nate, who fusses against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice muffled in her hair. “I’m sorry, Laura, I’m sorry...I'm really sorry.”

“Oh, Clint.” Laura sighs into him, and Nate lets out a cry as Clint moves to kiss his head. “I know.” She strokes his hair. “Is Natasha here?”

“She wanted to walk to the store,” Clint replies. Laura nods.

“Good. I want to be alone with you, for a little bit. Can we go back outside?”

Clint feels confused but shrugs, grabbing for his jacket. Laura, still carrying Nate, leads him out the front door, and Clint becomes even more confused when he realizes she’s leading him towards the old truck parked just off the driveway, near the barn.

“You hate this truck,” Clint says as she gestures towards the cab.

“I liked it more once you installed those seatbelts in the back,” Laura admits. “But no, I’m still not its biggest fan.” She opens the door and gets in the passenger seat, allowing Clint to sit in the driver’s seat. When they’re both settled, Laura adjusts Nate on her lap and Clint puts his hand on the wheel.

“Do you want me to drive it?” he asks, giving her a look. Laura sighs.

“No, Clint. I just want to sit here with you. Away from the house.” She leans her head against the seat and gives him a small smile. “Do you want to know what the best day of my life was?”

“The day I took off my shirt for the first time?”

Laura rolls her eyes. “The day I married you. August 13, 2001. I looked at you standing next to me, and I just...I knew. I knew how nervous you were about being right for me, and I couldn’t imagine anyone else being _more_ right for me.”

“Don’t let Natasha hear you,” Clint says. Laura smiles again, looking down at Nate.

“Do you remember the first time we took Nate out, after he was born? His first day in the real world, when we took him out of the house?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, his throat constricting as he remembers. “We brought him into town to go shopping. It was cold that day...well, for the spring. You were so nervous, even though I kept telling you this was like old hat. You had him wrapped in a blanket in that baby bjorn thing, and he slept through the whole thing. He could barely move. He was so small, I thought he was gonna fall out of your hands and I kept checking to make sure he was still in there.” He reaches over and strokes Nate’s head, and Nate looks up and giggles happily at the sight of his father, one chubby hand reaching out. Clint encircles the baby's tiny fingers in his own.

“Clint, I don’t blame you for what happened with Cooper,” Laura says after a moment. “You have to know that, even if we’re all angry with him.”

Clint can’t stop the tears from leaking out of the corner of his eyes. “You should blame me.”

“Why? Because he acted the way _you_ would act in that situation?” Laura’s voice softens. “You’re a good father, Clint. And Natasha is a good mother. But our children have to see those things reflected in you to know they can be good, too.” She pauses. “You know, when you were taken by Loki that time, Natasha told me about what happened.”

“What do you mean?” Clint asks, because he knows Laura’s aware of most of the things that happened during the Battle of New York.

“The first thing she said, after she found out you had been taken. She told me how you shot Fury. Point blank, in the chest. You knew he was wearing a vest and you shot right at his center, when you could have hit anywhere else.”

Clint flinches at the memory. “Laura --”

“She also told me that you tried to shoot Maria and missed. At close range.” She leans over to kiss him, and Nate gropes for Clint’s arm, tiny fingers brushing against Clint’s wrist. “The man I married doesn’t miss.”

Clint sighs. “Yeah, and I was brainwashed. What’s your point?”

“My point is that I know you were angry,” Laura continues. “And I know during that time, you lost a part of yourself, and that wasn’t you. But you _were_ still in there, and there was still good in you. There was still the good part of you, that was fighting to break through. I _know_ that part of you is in there, always, no matter how angry you get. That’s why I love you."

“We talked,” Clint says slowly. “Me and Nat. I know I was being difficult. I just...it’s a lot, Laur.”

“It’s always been a lot,” Laura says, reaching over to interlock their fingers. “But remember what we made. We made Nate when it was a lot. We loved Natasha when it was a lot. Lila, and Cooper, and this whole life we have...everything has been a lot, and we've gotten through it. I don’t want this to be different.”

“I know,” Clint says quietly. “I don't, either.” He manages to smile. “Still love me?”

“Oh, Clint.” Laura’s eyes are brighter than usual. “Clint, I will always love you, no matter what happens. You _and_ Natasha.” She leans over and kisses him, and as she does so, Clint takes Nate from her arms.

“Is Nat getting one of these talks, too?”

“Maybe,” Laura says. “I thought about some things last night, and I made some decisions. What Nat and I have to talk about is different, and I want to make sure we’re all on the same page before we sit down together. But when everyone comes home today, I want to talk about your hearing and how we're going to deal with that. And I want us to do it together.” She lets out a breath, which sounds loud in the small space. “We start doing things as a family again, even if we don't want to, and even if it’s hard. Okay?”

Clint nods, and hugs Nate a little tighter, kissing his head. “Yes, ma'am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR AND HAPPY NEW FIC CHAPTER! I swear, I didn't mean to make you wait a month after that last cliffhanger. Blaming the holidays and my slow writing and the fact that all my exchanges added up to me not realizing how long it had been since I last posted.
> 
> For those unaware, the convo between Nat and Clint about Laura being disappointed is [an actual outtake from CA:CW](http://68.media.tumblr.com/f1e5973fa8f7cdd97ee4c431d43e9ee3/tumblr_ocs5ggZR5e1t24i2zo4_400.gif), and one that I am PISSED they did not use. So, it's in this chapter and in this canon, because damned if I'm not going to make it exist somewhere. Also, thank you CW for the added canon about Natasha's whereabouts during Cap 2.
> 
> (Also, the soundtrack for this chapter was "That Would Be Enough" from Hamilton. Not sorry.)


	16. Chapter 16

“Daddy!”

Lila runs through the door, arms swinging and backpack swaying. She flings off the heavy pack before she jumps into Clint’s arms.

“We were gone from you for three thousand million billion hours!”

“It felt like a long time,” Clint agrees, hugging her tightly. Lila wraps her arms around his neck and lays her head on his shoulder.

“You went away for super long and then we went away from you for three million days _again_ and now we’re back, and I don’t want you to go away again.”

“I’m not going away,” Clint promises. “I swear.”

“Are your magic ears better?”

“A little,” Clint says, kissing her head, his voice shifting to the dad tone Laura knows so well as he puts her back down. “Did you have fun at grandma’s house?”

Lila nods happily. “Gramma and grampa made us Mickey pancakes! And then I went to school and played super fighting with my friend.”

“You _did_?”

Lila nods, and then turns around.

Mommy!”

Laura looks down and raises an eyebrow. “What, Lila?”

“Mommy, I need a drink, but first, I really need to go to the bathroom,” Lila announces. Laura chokes back a laugh as Clint picks Lila up, carrying her up the stairs, disappearing when he reaches the top landing. Once they’re alone, Laura looks at Natasha.

“I heard, uh. I heard you gave Clint a talk.”

“I did,” Laura says, closing the front door against the cold wind. Natasha smiles tightly.

“So where’s _my_ talk?”

Laura steps forward and kisses Natasha. When she stops kissing her, Natasha inclines her head, letting half of her ponytail fall loose in a russet wave.

“That’s it? I’m really getting the easy end of the bargain, here.”

Laura huffs out a laugh, focusing on Natasha’s emerald colored pupils and the softness of them, the way her hair curls steadily around her face in just the right way. “No, that’s not it. I was reminded of how hard I fought to keep you in this family. And how hard I worked to make you feel like you belonged with me, and with us.” She strokes a piece of unruly hair away from Natasha’s face. “I shouldn’t run when we can work out what we have. You taught me that.”

“I taught you to run,” Natasha says in a low voice, putting her hand against Laura’s face. “It was all I showed you. It was the only thing I knew how to do.”

“You also taught me to love,” Laura reminds her. “You make me a person. Clint does, too, in his own way. I need to remember that. Relationships take work, right? They don’t just stop working because things get easier. Or harder.”

Natasha’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Stop being such a good mother. And wife. And everything else under the damn sun.”

Laura kisses her nose. “I will not.”

“Fine. If there’s nothing else you need from me, or need to yell at me for, I can go help Clint get Lila settled,” Natasha offers. Laura glances at the stairs quickly, before turning her gaze back to Natasha.

“I actually do have something I need your help with.”

“Oh?”

Laura takes a deep breath and crosses her arms over her chest. “I want to know if you can help me find Wanda.”

Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”

“Because I want to talk to her,” Laura replies. “I haven’t talked to her since before this whole thing happened.”

Natasha doesn’t answer, choosing to fix her hair instead, a distraction Laura recognizes as her trying to figure out how to respond.

“How do you know she’s even left Wakanda?”

“I don’t,” Laura says. “But it’s been awhile, so maybe she has. Nat, if she’s still in Wakanda, that’s it. I won’t go off and try to look for her. But if she is...somewhere…”

Natasha presses her lips together, looking conflicted. “Does Clint know you want to find Wanda?”

“No,” Laura admits. At her words, Natasha frowns more.

“We just got through this fight. And you said no more secrets. We do things together, right?”

“I know,” Laura says. “I know what I said. And I don’t want to do anything to make us angry again. But I think this is something I need to do for myself, too. So please, Natasha...please trust me. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would help.”

Natasha sighs, rubbing her eyes. “No promises,” she says finally. “But I’ll see what I can do. Okay?”

Laura nods, leaning forward to hug her. “That's all I wanted to ask. Thank you.” She walks upstairs and practically trips over Lila, who is running down the hallway.

“Mommy! Mommy, Tasha!”

“Shhhh, Lila.” Laura scoops her up easily. “Your brother’s sleeping, remember?”

“I know. Can I say hi?”

Laura smiles and puts her finger to her lips. Lila mimics her and Laura carries her into the makeshift nursery, where she bends over the crib, letting Lila lean down so she can kiss the sleeping baby on the head.

“I love you, Tasha-Nate. You’re my favorite baby.”

“That’s what Cooper and daddy used to say about you,” Laura says as she carries her back out of the room and closes the door. Lila grins.

“And Auntie Nat, right?”

“And Auntie Nat.” She puts her daughter down and watches as she skips down the stairs, then walks into the bedroom. Clint’s standing shirtless in front of the calendar tacked to the wall of the closet, holding his flannel in one hand.

“Clint?”

“Two weeks ago, I was making pancakes and driving carpool. A week ago I was in jail. Now, I have no hearing.”

Laura swallows hard, trying not to pay attention to the scars and incisions that mar his back, or the way that his muscles protrude in an almost unnatural way, the source of too many broken bones and unnecessary injuries and a little bit of malnourishment.

“One day, I was a student thinking she was going to live at home for the rest of her life. A year later I was engaged. Now, I’m married to a man who is also a secret agent and assassin.”

Clint turns around and gives her a halfhearted smile, and Laura gives him one back.

“One day, Natasha was an an assassin that you took in. Then she was an agent, and then she was your partner. Now, she’s our wife and she's living the most domestic life possible.”

“Fine, fine. You’re making your point. You want me to see a therapist.”

“I --” Laura stops, her heart sinking. “No, Clint. I don’t want you to see a therapist. Unless that's what you want. I just want you to _talk_. Talk through this, or talk to me. Because if you don’t, it’s going to end up with you and Natasha fighting again.”

“I know,” Clint says heavily. “But we talked it out. We did. And we’re fine. I’m _fine_.”

“No,” Laura says firmly, because she's finished with calling him out on his bullshit after so many years. “You’re not.”

Clint bites down on his lip and Laura thinks he shakes a little. “Yeah, no. I’m not.”

Laura's lips fold into a sad smile, and she opens her arms. “Come here,” she says quietly. Clint walks forward and she wraps her arms around him as he dips his head onto her shoulder.

“Self loathing doesn't make me attractive, huh?”

Laura runs her fingers through his hair. “It doesn't. But I understand why you’re doing it.” She kisses him. “Remember what we talked about? I’ll allow it as long as it doesn’t take over. Okay?”

“Okay,” Clint agrees, and Laura squeezes him again.

“Okay. So come downstairs and be with your family, old man.”

“I am _not_ an old man,” Clint protests. Laura rolls her eyes as she walks out of the room.

“Whatever. You wanted to get back to normal, right? So I’m going to rag on you, and then tell you that you’re making dinner tonight.”

“I made dinner yesterday!” Clint complains, and Laura gives him a pointed look.

“Yesterday? You mean the day that we ordered pizza?”

“The day before,” Clint grumbles in resignation, and Laura smirks.

“I thought so. You’re still on potato peeling duty tonight.”

She hears Clint mumbling something about unfairness behind her, but ignores him as she walks back downstairs. Lila’s going through DVDs with Natasha’s help, and Laura takes a moment to absorb what it means to have her family together. She’s almost glad when _Frozen_ starts up and she gets to lose herself in the music that usually makes her want to stab her brains out, because it distracts her from counting down the minutes until Cooper comes home.

“Hi, dad.”

Clint, who has been sitting on the couch with Lila and Natasha, immediately gets up when his son walks in the door roughly two hours later.

“Hey, Coop.”

Laura watches as Clint crosses the room and envelopes him in a hug. “You okay? School was okay?”

"Yeah," Cooper responds, his voice muffled against Clint's arm. "Detention. No soccer for a week.”

“I know,” Clint says. Cooper looks up at him and winces.

“Aunt Nat was mad about my fight...and mom was mad, so I guess you’re mad too?”

“Yes,” Clint replies honestly. “But not mad enough to yell at you.”

Cooper looks relieved as he takes off his backpack and shoes, and then notices his entire family sitting in the living room. “We’re gonna have a talk and stuff, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Laura says, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie. Lila bounces up and down, banging her fists on the cushion.

“Elsa’s singing!”

“You can watch more Elsa after dinner and before your bath,” Laura promises. “Right now, we need to talk with daddy.”

“ _Mommmmmmmy_!”

“Lila.” Natasha pulls her onto her lap, and Lila shoves her thumb into her mouth with a glare that Laura can almost consider adorable.

“Now that dad’s hearing is a little different, we need to make some changes around the house.”

“What kind of changes?” Cooper asks suspiciously, while Lila tilts her head to one side.

“Sign language,” Laura says, sharing a look with Natasha. “We’ll all learn a little bit, enough to be able to communicate if dad can’t hear well.”

Cooper makes a face. “Learn? Like _school_? School at _home_?”

“Kind of,” Laura says as Cooper’s scowl deepens. “Sign language is considered a foreign language, so it's going to take some time to learn. It won’t be like school, but we’ll spend time after school -- and soccer -- and learn together. Nat and dad will help, too. It'll be fun.”

“Mommy?”

Laura turns to her daughter. “Yes, Lila baby?”

“How will I talk to daddy if I don’t know if he can hear me?”

“Well.” Laura leans forward, putting her elbows on her knees. “You know how you and Natasha have a secret handshake? You can have a secret code like that with daddy. You can talk to him with your hands, without saying anything.”

“He can talk to me with his _hands_?” Lila asks incredulously.

Laura smiles. “Yes, he can.”

“How?”

Laura thinks for a moment, and then signs the words _I love you_ to Lila slowly and easily. “Like that. I just told you I loved you without talking.”

Lila’s eyes widen and her face breaks into a delighted grin. “Cool! Coop, look at mommy’s magic handwaving!”

Cooper ignores his sister, looking at Natasha. “What if we...you know. What if we have trouble learning?”

“I think we’re all going to have some trouble learning,” Natasha replies honestly. “Even me and your mom. No one expects you to learn everything overnight. But we’re all in this together, right?”

Cooper nods. “I guess.”

“We’ll make it work,” Clint promises, finally speaking up. Cooper meets his eyes and tries to smile.

“Okay. Um. Can I play games before I do homework?”

Laura exchanges a glance with Clint and then Natasha. “Why don't you do your homework first and maybe we can start to learn some sign language, instead? You can play your games before you go to bed.”

Cooper looks less than enthused at the compromise, but he sighs loudly and gets up, grabbing his backpack. As he retreats upstairs, Lila looks at Laura expectantly, and then points to the television.

“Elsa’s gonna sing again!”

Laura gives up and allows Natasha to take the DVD off pause, leaving her family on the couch while she heads to the kitchen to chop carrots. Fifteen minutes later, Clint joins her, sidling up behind her in silence and placing his hands on her waist. He holds her gently until she stops cutting, leaning back against him.

“They’ll be okay,” he says in a low voice. “They’re smart kids. They love our family.”

“I know,” Laura says, unable to keep the frustrated sob of an emotion she can't place out of her voice. “I just…”

“Stop,” Clint says quietly, brushing her hair away. “Stop, Laura. I love you. Remember that.”

Laura nods and lets Clint hold her until she feels like she can breathe again without drowning from anxiety. “Thank you,” she whispers before he moves away for requisite potato peeling. Clint winks at her with a smile that says ten different things at once, and Laura understands everything he's projected without thinking about it.

“Anytime.”

 

***

 

After dinner, Natasha ends up washing dishes, and Clint ends up wandering into the living room. Laura is sitting on the floor with Nate, holding fingers up in front of his face. Nate drools onto his _Thomas The Tank Engine_ pajamas, and giggles, and then slaps his own hands together in a messy show of coordination.

“What are you doing?”

“Teaching him how to sign,” Laura says. “I know he hasn’t exactly reached the Clint Barton School of Archery Level in coordination, but it can’t hurt.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “He can barely walk, and he drools more than he talks. How the hell is he going to learn to _sign_?”

“Clint. According to books, six to eight months is when you should start babies on learning sign language,” Laura says, handing him a pile of papers that have been sitting next to her. “Babies understand a surprising amount of things starting from the week they’re born. They just can’t express themselves until later. Why do you think I yell at you to watch your mouth all the time?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Clint sits down and kisses Nate on the head. “I just...I mean, he’ll still learn how to talk, right?”

Laura rolls her eyes. “Yes, Clint. I promise, he’ll still learn how to talk. You’ve heard his mouth, haven’t you?”

As if on cue, Nate unleashes a string of random letters that Clint thinks could almost pass at legitimate words, until Lila comes swooping in and tackles her brother unceremoniously.

“Don’t cry, Tasha-Nate! I love you and you’re the best baby!” She kisses his head and knocks him back onto the carpet as she rolls on top of him. Nate makes a sound of surprise, and then starts to cry.

“Okay, okay…” Laura leans forward as Clint pries Lila off. “Lila, stop playing with your brother like that. Come on.” She picks up the squirming baby, who immediately stops crying once Laura takes him into her arms.

“There you go, my little man,” Laura murmurs, cradling him. “You want a bath? You want a bath, don’t you? Mommy wants to get you nice and clean so she can snuggle you all night.”

Clint stares at Laura, love swelling in his heart. He loses himself in watching her until Laura interrupts his calm by clearing her throat quietly. Clint turns around to find Cooper standing behind him, holding a mug with two hands. It’s the one he had given Clint last Father's Day, with the words SOME PEOPLE DON’T BELIEVE IN SUPERHEROES. THEY HAVEN’T MET MY DAD written on the side.

“Um. Mom said you might want coffee.”

Clint takes the cup and reaches up to ruffle Cooper's mop of brown hair, which is sticking straight up in every direction. “Thanks. Listen, Coop. I need to apologize.”

Cooper looks confused. “To me?”

“Yes,” Clint says as Cooper sits down on the floor. “It was irresponsible of me to force you to be a grown-up. I shouldn't have put all that pressure on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I wanted to do it,” Cooper says hesitantly. “Be a grown-up, I mean. But it was really hard.”

“Yeah, I know,” Clint says. “Being a grown-up _is_ really hard.”

“Does it ever not get hard?”

Clint thinks for a long time. “Not really,” he says finally. “It gets a little easier, especially when you don’t have to go through the hard things alone. But you don't have to worry about that. You’ll always have me here to help you through the hard things.”

“So do I get another chance at being a grown-up?” Cooper asks in a low voice. Clint busies himself with taking a sip of coffee so that he doesn’t lose it entirely.

“Absolutely. Look, kiddo...you’ve got a lot of anger in you.”

“That’s your fault too, right?”

“What I wouldn’t give to blame Aunt Nat,” Clint mutters under his breath; it’s not the first time he’s thought or wished Cooper had come from all three of them. It would have been so much easier to attribute his personality to them in that way. “Yes,” he says when he raises his voice. “I guess it is. But I know what it feels like to be upset and hurt about things you feel are your fault. I should’ve paid more attention to how you were feeling, especially after our talk at the lake house, but I was too busy thinking about myself. I was so worried about protecting us as a family that I didn’t think about how that responsibility could affect you. A lot has happened these past few weeks, right?”

“Yeah,” Cooper says, exhaling slowly. “A whole lot.”

“I know. And I just want you to know that I love you. I’ll always love you.” He pauses. “I heard you told grandma about what happened at school. Did mom tell you to do that?”

Cooper looks halfway between guilty and proud. “No. I did it myself. I thought you would’ve wanted me to.”

“I wouldn’t have forced you,” Clint says honestly. “Sometimes, there are secrets that you can keep to yourself or your family. But I’m really proud of you for speaking up and being honest, and I hope you can continue to do that if you feel badly about things that you do wrong.”

“Really?”

Clint chuckles under his breath. “Believe it or not, I have secrets with Nat that mom doesn’t know.”

“I had no idea,” Cooper deadpans. Clint resists the urge to (however gently) jab his son with the same playfulness that he uses around Natasha or Laura.

“I’m serious. There’s stuff that Nat and I have done at work that mom doesn’t know about. And there’s stuff Nat doesn’t know about me and mom. It doesn't change who we are and what we love about each other. My point is, as you get older, you learn what is and isn’t worth getting in trouble for.”

“Dad?”

“Hmmm?” Clint reaches for his reading glasses and puts them on so he can look at the papers Laura’s left him.

“How do you know what you’ll get in trouble for? Like, did you think you’d get in trouble when you told mom you liked Aunt Nat?”

Clint finds he doesn’t know how to answer, even though the answer is simple. “Yes,” he admits.

Cooper’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Even though it was Nat?”

Clint swallows down a laugh. “Yeah. Even though it was Nat. I thought mom was going to be mad because I liked her.”

Cooper grins wickedly. “I mean, mom’s pretty...what’s that big word for really liking something no one else is supposed to like?”

Clint frowns, searching his brain. “Territorial?”

“Yeah. That.”

Clint snorts. “You think mom's territorial? Have you _met_ Natasha?” He reaches for his coffee again and takes a long sip.

“Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“About that whole trouble thing...what about when you went to help Wanda?”

Clint sips his coffee more and more slowly, until he’s pretty sure time is passing at a speed that’s downright glacial. “Yeah, kiddo. I knew I was going to be in trouble if I went to help Wanda.”

“But you still went.”

“What is this, twenty questions?”

“ _Daaaaaaaad_.”

“I didn’t know how badly I was going to get in trouble,” Clint admits, which he knows he can say with honesty. True, he knew every single consequence that his actions could have resulted in, even if it wouldn’t have made a difference -- he was going to go help Wanda either way. The only thing he _couldn’t_ have foreseen was Tony outing his family to Ross. “But I knew that if I didn’t tell anyone, especially you or mom, I would pay for keeping that secret. I was willing to get in trouble, because it was the right thing to do. I owed Wanda as a friend and as a teammate.”

Cooper stays silent, chewing on his bottom lip, and Clint regards his son carefully. “Hey, I know you probably don’t remember a lot about being a baby. But I swear, there was nothing more I wanted to do than tell the world how proud I was of you, even before you could talk. That hasn’t changed.”

“You’re just saying that,” Cooper scoffs. “You still like Lila more.”

“Sure, Lila’s my girl,” Clint says, slightly taken aback by Cooper’s comments. “But you’re my baby. My _first_ baby.”

“Ugh, dad! Don’t say mushy things like that!” Cooper makes a face and gets up, running up the stairs. Natasha pokes her head out of the kitchen with a quizzical look, holding a bottle of Lysol.

“Did you just scare Cooper off with your dad cooties?”

“Very funny.” Clint puts his glasses back on with one hand and adjusts his hearing aid. “First Laura with the old man comments, and now you with the cooties.”

“Yes, you have the best of wives and best of women,” Natasha returns dryly. When Clint looks up, she shrugs. “Laura lent me her biography of Alexander Hamilton. He might be even more idiotic than _you_ sometimes.”

Clint chooses to ignore Natasha’s words, electing instead to follow his son and join Laura upstairs for the end of Nate’s bath. He walks into the bathroom just as Laura is finishing drying him off with a tiny towel, and Nate breaks into a grin when he sees his father.

“Abdahma!”

His arms flail in the direction of his dad, and Clint hands him the pacifier that he’s been holding.

“Apparently ‘abdahma’ means pacifier?”

“You’re assuming that’s what he even _said_.” Clint smiles as Nate slurps happily on the plastic object. “On the other hand, it took me ages to figure out that pointing at the crib and saying _ba_ over and over again meant he wanted his blanket. You’d think after three kids I’d figure this out, but he talks so much on a normal basis, I can’t tell when he wants something or when he just wants to babble.”

“God help me when he starts to really speak,” Laura groans, handing Nate over. Clint kisses his head and smoothes down his thin bits of hair.

“Hey, looks like he’s gonna have Coop’s eyes.”

“They could still change,” Laura warns. “But that would make me happy. Let’s hope.”

By the time Natasha has cleaned up the kitchen and by the time Cooper has brushed his teeth and by the time Lila has taken her bath, Clint is more than ready to fall into bed. He bites down on his tongue when he sees Cooper huddled under the covers with a flashlight and kisses Lila and her stuffed wolf. He lets Laura leave the light on in the master bedroom so she can finish a chapter of her book but he’s so tired that he passes out with his hand on Laura’s lap before Natasha even comes back from the bathroom.

“Daddy?”

Clint keeps his eyes closed, because the voice sounds so far away he thinks it might be part of a dream. Two tiny hands shove his arm, and his fingers tingle with the sensation of his limbs having fallen asleep.

“Daddy?”

Clint blinks himself awake and fumbles for his left aid with heavy limbs. He squints at Lila, who is standing in front of him, her mass of frizzy hair matted from sleep and obscuring her face.

“Hey,” Clint croaks out. Lila doesn’t answer and as Clint’s eyes adjust to the dark, he realizes there are thin streaks of dried tears on her cheeks.

“Hey,” he says again, a little more alert, getting out of bed as slowly as he can so as not to make himself dizzy. Laura stirs next to him, but doesn’t wake, and Lila grips Clint's hand hard as they walk out of the room. Clint considers where to go, then stops halfway down the stairs and decides to just make camp. He pulls her close, and she snuggles into his waist, pressing into his oversized t-shirt. “What’s wrong, Lila baby?”

Lila still doesn’t answer, and Clint lets them sit in silence for a moment.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Tell you what. I think you’re sad, and I’m sad, too. I’ll tell you why I’m sad if you tell me why you’re sad. Deal?”

Lila nods against his torso, and Clint tangles his fingers in her messy hair. “I’m sad because of my ears, and because I was away from you for a long time.” He leans over to kiss her head. “Now it's your turn. Why are _you_ sad?”

Lila finally moves away and lifts her head. “I was scared.”

“Oh, baby.” He hugs her again more tightly. “What was it?”

“Um.” Lila’s voice is barely audible even in the silence, a timid lilt. “You were in trouble.” The last word comes out with a “w” sound instead of an “r”, and Clint decides that he can let the correction of speech go for now.

“Trouble, huh?”

Lila nods. “I was tryin’ to tell you about it but you didn’t hear me. I yelled a lot like you told me to and you still didn’t hear. And then something happened and you went away.”

Clint swallows down a lump in his throat and resists the urge to crush his daughter against him in protection. “Hey, I’m here. Daddy’s okay. It was just a bad dream. You know that, right?”

“But it made me sad,” Lila says, her voice breaking. “You went away. What if that happens for real?”

“I know it made you sad,” Clint says, keeping his voice soft. “You got scared, right? Scared that daddy was hurt?”

Lila nods. “I don’t think your magic ears worked.”

Clint lets half of his mouth lift in a wry smile. “Guess what? It’s okay to be scared.” He runs his fingers up and down her arm. “I’m scared, too.”

“Why?” Lila asks in a shaking voice. Clint rubs her back.

“Well. I’m scared because I want to protect you and make sure you’re safe, and I’m worried about doing that with my magic ears. Because I love you and care about you.”

Lila sniffles and drags the sleeve of her nightgown across her nose. Clint shifts on the stairs, stretching his legs so that he's more comfortable.

“You know how I tell Coop and mommy that we don’t make promises when Auntie Nat and I go away?”

“Yes,” Lila says, sniffling again. "Cause promises are bad."

“Well, I’m gonna break that rule,” Clint decides. “Because I love that you’re my little girl. And you have so much love for everyone in this family, even when your baby brother yells in your face, or when mommy asks you to do things you don’t like. And you’re gonna grow up and be so strong and caring, and you’re gonna love so many things.” He leans down and kisses her cheek and dried tears, remembering the conversation that he'd had with Natasha after their fight.

_She was so innocent, Clint. She didn't know what the world was capable of._

His throat burns as her voice echoes in his mind. “I want you to promise daddy that you’ll never change, even if you’re scared," Clint continues. "Because it's okay to be scared. I'll never stop loving you. You know that, right?"

Lila nods and hugs Clint again. "I love you, daddy.”

Clint smiles and tries to stop his own tears from falling. He knows he'd give anything to make sure Lila never had bad dreams again, but he also realizes that sitting alone in the dark and assuring his daughter that he'll keep her safe makes him feel more at home than he has in a while. “Me too, baby.”

 

***

 

“I'm putting Cooper in therapy,” Laura decides the next morning, after she’s poured Clint and Natasha coffee and come back from school drop-offs. Clint’s head snaps up and he grabs the table to steady himself from dizziness.

“Therapy? He’s just a _kid_.”

“And he’s been through more as a kid than most people have in their lifetime,” Laura says, shifting Nate on her hip. “What happened at school wasn’t an accident. You know that. I don’t want it to happen again, and if he can’t talk to us, maybe he can talk to someone else.”

Clint snorts into his coffee. “Yeah, he’ll really feel good talking to some stranger about how bad he’s feeling. You think that won’t make him feel more different?”

Laura gives him a look. “I went to therapy, remember? After my miscarriage? No one told me that I was different because I had lost a baby and needed to talk to someone.”

Clint looks embarrassed and sighs, rubbing the rim of the coffee cup with his thumb. “I just don’t want him to think he’s anything less than normal. He’s got a learning disability already, and he thinks we're different because of my hearing. What if this hurts him more than it helps him?”

“What if we don’t take him to see anyone and he grows up unable to deal with things that are too much for him, because his own parents never addressed issues when they could have?” Laura counters. “He was exposed to so many things early on, Clint -- your injuries, Natasha, New York, and now everything since you went away…who knows what else we’re going to go through.”

“He was okay after we talked to him! You saw it, right?” He looks hopefully at Natasha, who shakes her head.

“Clint, Cooper’s a smart kid, but Laura’s right. He has been through a lot in a short time, and your injury isn’t helping. Therapy would probably be a good idea.”

Clint narrows his eyes. “Is this because I never went to therapy and you’re worried he’ll turn out the same as me?”

“It has nothing to do with that,” Laura snaps, her patience fraying. “I’m trying to look out for our son’s mental health and well being, and you should be doing the same, not taking offense to it and thinking everything is about you.” She turns around and walks out of the room; she doesn’t want to get in another argument and Nate needs to be changed anyway, she can feel the baby’s diaper leaking underneath his small cargo pants.

“Laura.”

Laura pauses halfway up the stairs, stopped in her tracks by Natasha's voice.

“Can I talk to you?”

Confused, Laura carefully backtracks to meet Natasha. “What’s up?”

Natasha waits until they're both on equal footing, and then takes a deep breath. “I found Wanda.”

“What?” Laura asks breathlessly. “I -- where? I thought you said it could take awhile.”

“Me, too,” Natasha says evasively. “But I surprised myself, even.” She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and hands Laura a plain white envelope, which Laura takes with one hand and starts to open.

“Not here,” Natasha cautions. “Wait until you’re alone, just in case. And don’t ask me how I found it.”

As curious as Laura is, after years of being around her two spouses, she knows better than to question Natasha’s spy skills. She holds the envelope in her hand and and tries to forget about it as she brings Nate upstairs to change his diaper, putting it on the dresser. Laura then lets her son crawl around on the floor while she locks the door behind her and opens the envelope. Inside, there's a folded up piece of notebook paper. Laura turns it over, expecting a long list of instructions, or even some phone numbers. But the only thing written on it is an address, hastily scribbled in Natasha’s writing.

_15481 Pharmacy Hill Road. Jordan Valley, Oregon._

Laura stares at the paper and then takes her phone out of her pocket, googling quickly. By car, Oregon to Iowa was at least a 24-hour trip, and that was if she drove non-stop, which was probably out of the question. She considers other means of travel, but the suspicion she’s had upon first seeing the address turns out to the right the more she searches: the town that Wanda is living in (or hiding in) was considered to be one of the top 15 most remote cities in the United States. It boasted less than 200 residents and a mountain range, and Laura quickly assesses that getting a plane there would be headache.

 _So, driving it is_ , Laura decides somewhat glumly. While she’s learned to enjoy being in the car without her children screaming or yelling or fighting, she hates long car rides by herself, and she knows Natasha’s not coming with her. Not that Laura wants her to come. Finding Wanda was something Laura wanted to do for herself, on her own, even though thinking about it sends a stab of guilt through her stomach. She knows Clint would immediately push back if he was aware of what she was doing, as much as she knows she won't be able to keep her trip from him once she comes home. But she figures she can cross that bridge when she comes to it. For now, she had to figure out how to tell enough white lies that would convince Clint and Natasha to agree to being solo parents for at least three days. Laura folds the paper back up and shoves it deep into the pocket of her skirt, while Nate holds up a torn out page of a coloring book, waving it happily like a flag.

“Can you watch the kids for a few days?” Laura asks while shucking corn in the sink later that afternoon.

“Not like I have anything else to do,” Clint responds, leaning over to take out the trash. “Except, you know, learn sign language. Maybe I’ll grow another goatee.”

Laura sighs. “I’m serious. I need to go out of town for at least two days, and I need to know if you and Natasha will be okay alone.”

“You mean, you want to know if _I’ll_ be okay alone,” Clint responds. “Me, the father of your children, the guy you’ve been married to for over fifteen years.”

“Well, Natasha too,” Laura answers. “Who knows what she’ll teach them if I leave her by herself? Cooper could end up with a black belt in karate. Or maybe he’ll kill Hannah’s dog with one hand.” She turns around, clutching a half-shucked ear of corn. “And yes, I’m asking. It’s not like you’re magically cured of every issue you’ve had since coming home.”

“What’s going on that you need to suddenly get out of town for a few days?” Clint asks suspiciously, not addressing her comment.

“Dad has a few extra days on his trip out west where he’s visiting one of the bases in California,” Laura answers carefully. “I thought maybe I’d drive out there and spend some time with him.”

“You’re gonna drive all the way to California?” He’s looking at her in surprise, and Laura can’t blame him. Even to her, it sounds like a ludicrous idea, especially if she could _fly_ to California with no problem.

“I could use the time,” she says, meeting his gaze head on. Clint keeps their gazes locked for a long time, and then shrugs.

“Alright. I mean, if you wanna go.” He turns around and pulls the black bag up with ease. “I don’t think we’re gonna die here or anything.”

“Exactly what I want to hear,” Laura mutters as she turns back around and keeps shucking, trying to pay attention to the wind chimes that are swinging a little too quickly on the porch.

Truthfully, it’s easier than she thinks to get the time away, and the explanation she had decided on wasn’t a total lie: Laura’s dad _was_ away visiting a base in California. Should Clint pull a total parent move and call her mom for any reason, Elizabeth would probably assume Laura’s explanation was truthful. Only Natasha knew exactly where Laura’s running off to.

“I’ll keep this a secret as long as you’re gone,” Natasha warns under her breath as she hugs Laura goodbye. “But not after. You need to tell him where you went, even if he gets mad about it. It’s Wanda. You didn’t see him after they got out of the Raft. He can't not know.”

Laura nods, because she knows Natasha is right, and then goes to hug Clint.

“You know you could take the quinjet, right? It would probably be faster.”

“Clint.” She fixes him with a look. “I am not taking a quinjet. I don’t even know how to fly it.”

“Oh, come on. You’d pick it up in a second,” he scoffs as he strokes her hair. “Seriously. It’s a long trip. You sure you’ll be okay? You don’t have to go.”

Laura tries to shove her emotions away as she thinks of Wanda. “I do,” she says. “Just for a little while. And it’ll give you and Nat time to be alone with the kids, and I think they need to get used to that again.”

Clint nods, and then hugs her more tightly. When he lets her go, Laura hugs a hesitant Lila and Cooper, cuddles Nathaniel, and promises to call for goodnight kisses and bedtime rituals. Then she gets in the car, plugs in her iPod, hits the GPS followed by her Broadway-themed playlist, and starts her drive west.

She makes it almost halfway, and ends up having to pull over at the border of Nebraska into Wyoming when her eyes start to close against her will. Laura stops at a 24-hour McDonalds drive-thru when she gets off the highway and tries to give herself a pep talk about bad food decisions being warranted as she orders a coffee and a Big Mac.

“I think SHIELD gave you better accommodations,” Laura says after she secures her room at the hotel she’s chosen. She’s taken off her shoes and is lying on the covers she’d carefully turned down for sanitary reasons, holding the phone at an awkward angle while trying to FaceTime.

“Where are you?” Clint asks as he bounces Nathaniel on his knee, after Laura has checked in with Cooper and admonished him for eating ice cream before dinner. “The La Quinta Inn in Casper?”

“Actually -- yeah.” Laura blinks in surprise. “What the hell? Did you place a tracking device on me?”

“Ha. No.” Clint blows kisses onto Nathaniel’s head. “I’ve made a couple of rounds at shitty motels over the years, Laur. We both have.”

“Daddy sweared a bad word!”

“That’s still creepy,” Laura informs him, ignoring her daughter’s yells. “And I didn't say it was  _bad_.” She places emphasis on the last word, an added admonishment of _I don’t need to swear to get my point across_. “It’s just not a place I’d want to stay for more than one night.”

“Could’ve taken the quinjet,” Clint says conversationally, and Laura groans.

“Shut up, Clint. And please don’t tell me why Cooper had ice cream before dinner. It really makes me question your parenting decisions.”

“Maybe it's because you’re not here and we don’t have three parents in the house to control him like we normally do.”

“ _You’re_ a parent. Natasha is a parent. That’s two parents, which is what we’ve _always_ had. Poor excuse, Barton.”

Clint chooses not to answer, passing the phone to Lila in a shaky move, and Lila holds the phone in out front of her.

“Mommy, are you with grandpa?”

Laura winces as Lila screams into the phone and Natasha leans over, her head barely fitting into the frame.

“You don’t have to yell, Lila. This isn’t like daddy. Mommy can hear you if you use your normal voice.”

“I’m not with grandpa right now,” Laura explains when Natasha stops talking. “I’m in my own room, because I need to sleep. Mommy had a long drive today.”

“Oh.” Lila adjusts Brownie, who is tucked underneath her arm, and leans back against the couch. “Since grandpa’s not here, _you_ get to do voices tonight! Daddy and Tasha already read things so now it’s time for monster stories.”

“Oh, really?” Laura, who has already prepared for this moment, picks up her copy of  _Where The Wild Things Are_. “Are you ready for big _scary_ monster voices?”

Lila pushes hair out of her eyes and grins in approval as Laura begins to read, growling and miming her way through Maurice Sendak’s story until she gets to the end.

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” Lila asks hopefully after she closes the book. Laura smiles and brings the phone close to her lips in response.

“I just did. It’s traveling through the air like when you kiss daddy goodnight on trips. Did you catch it yet?”

“Not _yet_ ,” Lila says in exasperation, as if Laura has asked the dumbest question in the world. “It’s too slow, because you’re too far away!” She leans forward suddenly, clapping her hands together, and then rubs her hands all over her body. “Got your kisses, mommy.”

“Good.” Laura smiles. “Now, make sure Aunt Nat and daddy give you more kisses before you go to bed. And I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Be good at school for me, okay?”

“K. Love you.”

By morning, Laura's on her way out of Casper and inching closer to Oregon. By the time she rolls into Jordan Valley itself, everything hurts and she’s beginning to understand why Wanda has chosen to hide out here. There are a few small stores in what Laura assumes has to be the main drag of town, a small stretch of civilization that reminds her a little bit of home. But other than that, there are simply long stretches of road and lots of open fields, peppered by the occasional large truck that ambles by alongside her (very out of place) minivan.

Laura checks the GPS on her phone again, rolls down the window, and takes both a breath of fresh air and another sip of the large diet coke she’d procured at the last rest stop. It takes another twenty minutes of driving and mindless scenery before she even reaches the road she’s supposed to be on, and then another twenty minutes after that before she sees anything that could relate to a sign of life.

“How am I supposed to know what house number this is if there’s only one house every five miles?” Laura mutters to herself, her fingers folding over the wheel in frustration. As if in answer to her question, a small one-story ranch home that looks like it’s definitely seen better days comes into view. It’s surrounded by a nondescript wooden fence, and tattered curtains flap gently in the breeze through dusty windows. If Laura hadn’t known to come here, she would have probably thought the place was abandoned completely.

She drives by to confirm that the faded number on grey mailbox is the one she’s supposed to be looking for, and then turns around and slowly drives back, parking a few meters away from the house. She’s learned enough over the years from Clint and Natasha to take precautions when it came to covering her tracks, and she figures since Wanda is more or less hiding from people who could hurt her, she should err on the side of cautiousness.

Laura stays in the car for a long time, deep breathing herself into the courage to get up. _You miss every shot you don’t take._ It would be easy to chicken out, she knows, but she hadn’t traveled over a day for nothing. She thinks about how Clint left for Wanda when he might not have wanted to, and how Natasha left for Lagos when she didn’t want to, and finally gets out of the car, making her way to the front of the house. In addition to the quiet house, there’s quiet everywhere -- no cars or houses or even animals -- and Laura thinks she can almost hear her own footsteps echoing against the dirt. She approaches the front door and knocks once, loud and firm, before she can regret it. As she waits in silence for a response, she starts to wonder if she should have taken the extra gun they usually kept in the house.

After another five minutes of agonizing silence, the door opens halfway, and a tall blonde peeks out.

“Yes?”

“I’m, um.” Laura swallows, trying to make her voice sound more steady. “I’m looking for Wanda Maximoff.”

The woman makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Laura doesn’t know if the woman is being intentionally evasive because of Wanda’s situation, or maybe she does have the wrong house after all. The only thing she _does_ know is that even if Wanda was no longer living here, Natasha’s information wouldn’t be wrong. Maybe this woman could tell her when she's gone, if she trusted her enough. _What would Clint do?_ she finds herself thinking as the door starts to close. _How would her husband handle this situation?_

“Wait,” Laura says, holding her hands out. “I know her. I’m not here to hurt her, I swear. I just want to see her. I’m Laura Barton, she knows my husband --”

“Barton.” The door stops halfway to being closed, and then opens a little wider. The blonde almost smiles, though Laura thinks she might be seeing things. “Hawkeye’s wife?”

Laura blinks quickly, caught entirely off guard. Had Natasha somehow called ahead in some sort of spy transmission and told this woman that she was coming? If that was the case, why would she have been so cautious in the first place? Laura can't imagine they got many visitors out here, furthermore, while she knows she can look intimidating when it comes to her kids, she doesn't think she looks _that_ threatening.

“Yes,” she says slowly. “I -- I’m sorry. Do you know him?”

This time, Laura notices, the smile is much more prominent. “Yeah, you could say I know him. I’m Bobbi Morse. Come in, if you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd feel bad about leaving you hanging, but I love feelings. ;) Oh, [here's my visual for the house that Laura finds Wanda (and Bobbi!) in.](http://cdn.landsofamerica.com/inv/691394/691394-1006031307028750-p.JPG)
> 
> Also, you may notice that there is now an end in terms of number of chapters! (There MAY be an extra one depending on how long the next one gets, but not more than that.) While it makes me sad to know that this is coming to an end, I'm excited to share the rest of this story with you and I appreciate your readership more than you know. And don't worry -- I'm writing regularly but I'm not so quick to get this finished that I'll churn it all out at once. You're stuck with me for a little while longer. :)


	17. Chapter 17

Laura doesn’t come in. Not right away. She stands in place, trying to wrap her brain around the exchange that’s just happened. Laura likes to think that after robots and aliens and secret organizations and immortal beings who showed up at her house in red capes -- not to mention three kids, a SHIELD husband, and an assassin wife -- there’s not a lot that surprises her.

She figures that in this moment, she’s proving herself wrong.

“No, seriously. Come in.” Bobbi gestures behind her. “I swear we don’t bite.”

“We?” Laura asks as she steps inside, immediately meeting the face of a man with a spotty beard. His eyes, hard and protective, narrow at her.

“Watch it, love. Wouldn’t want to ruin my carpet with the inside of your head.”

Laura sucks in a sharp breath as Bobbi steps between them, holding up her hands. “Relax, Hunter. She’s okay. Trust me.” Bobbi turns to Laura and grins again. “Anyone who can stay married to Clint Barton for more than a year is good in my book.”

“I’m sorry,” Laura repeats, trying to get her bearings. “I’m -- I don’t know who you are. I don’t know if I’m supposed to know who you are. But all I’m doing is looking for Wanda Maximoff --”

“She’s here,” Bobbi interrupts. “And she’s safe. I’d be surprised you don’t know who I am, but it _is_ Clint. And maybe I’m a less memorable ex-girlfriend than I thought I was.”

Something dawns on Laura as Bobbi says the words, and she suddenly remembers Fury’s visit to the house after Clint had left. “You’re the one he called for help,” she says slowly, putting the pieces together. “When he needed to get to Germany.”

“Yes.” Bobbi nods. “I was off the grid myself, and he needed assistance from someone who could pull some strings. It was the least I could do.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Clint was always too good to me. Sometimes, I think that if I hadn’t been such a pretentious asshole --”

“A demonic hell beast,” Hunter breaks in. “Pure evil.”

“If I hadn’t been so obsessed with my own career path, we could’ve been something,” Bobbi continues smoothly, ignoring Hunter’s jabs with an ease that Laura finds impressive. “But then he probably wouldn’t have met you, and trust me. You’re a much better fit for him.”

“Thanks,” Laura says, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “So you hid Wanda here?”

Bobbi shares a glance with Hunter, who hasn’t moved from his spot, and points towards a ratty couch. “Do you want to sit down? I mean, you _are_ welcome to stay. Even if he tells you otherwise.”

Hunter pouts, and Bobbi rolls her eyes as Laura sits down hesitantly.

“When Clint and I met, he was in the military, and I had just completed my PhD in biology,” Bobbi starts as Laura sits down across from her. “I was working for SHIELD, and I had been dispatched to one of the bases he was at to do some calculations for air transport. Highly classified, obviously.”

“I teach chemistry,” Laura offers. “Well, kind of. I have a degree in it, and I’m a teacher’s assistant at the state college. So you worked with Clint at SHIELD?”

“Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree then, huh?” Bobbi smirks in a way that reminds Laura of Natasha. “And no, I didn’t work with your husband, though we were both trained and recruited by the same people. But Clint joined SHIELD long after I did. When I started there, I mostly worked in the labs, not in the field. A year or two ago, I started going on some missions, right around the time HYDRA was exposed. I’m assuming you know about HYDRA, right?”

Laura nods, and Bobbi sighs quietly.

“My team suffered casualties, and I ended up undercover before joining up with the current team of those left at SHIELD. That’s the short version of it, at least.”

“Oh.” Laura twists her hands together. “And Hunter…” She trails off, looking at him, and he grins cheekily.

“I’m the ex-husband, love. But don’t let her mood fool you. She’s pretty fond of me.”

“Right. So how did you end up here?” Laura asks, deciding not to linger on Bobbi’s personal life for multiple reasons. “Are you still a part of that group from SHIELD?”

Bobbi shakes her head. “No. About a year ago we were on a mission in Siberia and things...happened.” She pauses, and Laura doesn’t miss the way Bobbi carefully chooses her words. She decides not to push it; it wasn’t relevant information and she has a feeling if it _was_ , Bobbi would probably tell her, considering how much she was spilling otherwise.

“To save our friends, Hunter and I had to make sacrifices. So we disavowed ourselves from SHIELD, and went underground. This place was an old bolthole of mine from a few years ago. It’s a little outdated, but it’ll do. And we’re certainly remote.”

Laura finds that she can’t help herself from thinking of Clint and Wanda. She considers herself pretty good at reading people, even if they kept their emotions below the surface, and she can see a hint of conflict in Bobbi's features that seems to indicate that whatever she went through was more than a little traumatic. She thinks of Clint, and of everything he had sacrificed for Wanda while knowing he was probably putting himself in danger. 

"SHIELD gives you tools so you can fight for the greater good," Bobbi continues, as if reading Laura's mind. "But as I'm sure you know, you can't teach someone what it means to care. Fury contacted us about a month ago, asking if we would mind taking Wanda in, given everything that had happened with the Accords. She wanted to leave Wakanda and she needed a place to lie low. This fit the bill. Plus, well. We have a mutual friend in common.” She shrugs and smiles, and Laura smiles back, feeling a little more comforted.

“I just...I wanted to see her,” Laura says, suddenly feeling hesitant. “And make sure she was okay. Clint doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Uh huh.” Bobbi looks surprised. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I mean, we don’t have much, as I’m sure you’ve seen from your drive into town. And I bet you have a family to get home to.”

“Yeah,” Laura says, getting up. “I do, but -- can I -- Wanda?”

Bobbi points behind her, and Laura gets up, walking slowly in the direction of what she assumes is Wanda’s room. She reaches the only closed door in the hallway and knocks hesitantly. The door opens sooner than Laura expects and Wanda stares at her, eyes wide and surprised.

“ _Laura_? Oh my god, Laura...what are you doing here?” Wanda reaches forward to hug her, and Laura doesn’t miss the way her arms tightly grasp at her body, like she’s desperate for contact with someone she trusts. Laura doesn’t move until Wanda lets go, sniffling quietly.

“Oh, Wanda...Wanda, honey, it’s okay.” Laura hugs her again and Wanda shakes her head against her shoulder.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

“What?” Laura pulls away and holds Wanda at arms length. “No, Wanda, no...nothing’s wrong, I promise. I just wanted to see you.”

Wanda nods slowly, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her eyes. “I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I missed you.”

Laura smiles, reaching up to stroke her hair. “I missed you, too. I’ve been worried about you. Clint told me a little bit about what happened, but --”

“Clint. How is he?” Wanda’s tone is fearful when she interrupts, and Laura puts her hand on her shoulder.

“He’s okay. He’s home, and we’re all safe. He’s getting used to his hearing aids. Can we sit down?”

Wanda looks back at her bed and nods, letting Laura into the room. Laura closes the door behind her, and takes a quick glance around the space. She hadn’t really seen Wanda’s room at Avengers Compound, but she had seen a few screenshots from Clint’s Skype sessions, and she remembered it looking cozy and homey. Wanda’s room here is marked with bland walls and peeling paint and looks mostly bleak, save for a few mementos tacked to the wall and a vase of flowers on the bedside table. Without knowing exactly why, Laura feels sad.

“Bobbi and Hunter are nice,” Wanda says, as if understanding what Laura wants to ask but can’t articulate. “I feel comfortable with them. They know about my powers and they have seen things of their own.” She pauses. “This place, though...it is not home.”

Laura sits down on the bed. She suddenly realizes she doesn’t know what to say; she had driven all the way here with so much intention but now that she _is_ here, she feels like she’s at a loss for words.

“Did you come to tell me to come back?”

Laura shakes her head. “No, sweetheart. Of course not. Unless you want to, of course. You know you’re more than welcome at the farm if you ever want to come back.” She looks around the room, and then finds Wanda's eyes again. “Thanks to my parents, we’re safe at home, even if Ross were to come looking for us. We got lucky.”

Wanda smiles, exhaling loudly. “Good,” she says quietly. “I do miss you. But I cannot come back. Not yet.”

Laura puts her hand on Wanda’s knee. “Do you...do you want to talk about it? Any of it? I swear I won’t tell Clint.”

“I do not know,” Wanda admits. “I am...I was so scared. I am still scared. Of a lot of things.”

Laura thinks for a moment, trying to imagine Natasha or Lila sitting in front of her. “Do you want to go for a ride? Or a walk? Just us?”

Wanda looks up in surprise, and after a moment, her face relaxes into a smile. “A ride sounds nice,” she says shyly.

“Okay.” Laura doesn’t wait for Wanda to react, getting up and walking back out of the room. Hunter and Bobbi are sitting at a small table in what looks like a kitchen area, and Bobbi’s cleaning knives with a delicate precision that Laura can tell is probably calming her. Laura pauses for a moment to watch, realizing that the action doesn’t even phase her. She silently contemplates how insane her life has become over the years.

“Uh, do you mind if Wanda and I go for a quick drive? I promise we won’t go far. I just think it would be good for us to get away for a little bit and have some time alone. I haven’t seen her since before she went off to fight.”

Hunter looks like he wants to protest, but Bobbi silences him with one sharp look. “Yes,” she says as Hunter throws up his hands.

“Right, so we’re just letting _anyone_ into our bloody home these days. And then letting them take off with the one person we swore we’d protect! Are you mad?”

“Shut up, Hunter. And I thought being in a relationship with Barton was stressful.” She mutters the last words as she gets up, and Laura stifles a small laugh. She wishes she were here under different circumstances; as annoyed as she is that Clint had conveniently never mentioned Bobbi in any capacity during their entire relationship, she’s someone Laura thinks she could absolutely find herself being good friends with. If nothing else, she’s pretty sure Bobbi has some good stories that she’s never heard.

“We won’t be long,” Laura promises as she takes her keys out of her pocket, looking at Wanda, who has walked into the kitchen.

“I know. I trust you.” Bobbi smiles again and Laura takes that as a sign of approval, holding out her hand to Wanda. Laura notices Wanda's hand shakes slightly, so she tightens her grip just a little.

Once they’re back outside, Laura finds she can breathe a little easier -- not that Bobbi and Hunter made her feel _unwelcome_ by any means, but there was something about being in a place that was obviously an off-the-grid hideout that made her uncomfortable. She waves Wanda over to the minivan, and Wanda gets inside without hesitation.

“Can we drive in that direction?” Wanda asks quietly. “There is a mountain range at the end of the road and I like to sometimes walk to the field. It is nice and open.”

“Of course,” says Laura, starting the engine and backing up. She makes a wide U-turn on the dirt road and starts to drive, checking the rearview mirror just in case.

“Stop the car,” Wanda says suddenly, and Laura swivels her head in concern and confusion.

“Wanda?”

“Stop the car, please,” Wanda begs, her voice becoming more desperate. Laura does, feeling thankful that she can literally stop in the middle of the road without worrying about oncoming traffic. The moment she hits the breaks, Wanda opens the car door and stumbles out of the passenger seat, retching onto the dirt. Laura immediately shuts off the engine and gets out of the car, coming around to kneel next to Wanda.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, stroking her hair. “You’re okay, Wanda. I’m right here.”

Wanda finishes throwing up after another few seconds and then raises her head, her eyes shining with embarrassment. “I am sorry,” she says softly. “We can go now.”

“Are you --” Laura looks Wanda up and down. “Wanda, are you sure? If you’re sick, I can take you back to the house. It’s okay.”

“I am fine,” Wanda says, straightening up with Laura’s help. “The drugs that they gave me when I was at the Raft. I still have side effects sometimes. That is all.”

Laura swallows down a lump in her throat, trying to ignore the motherly instincts that immediately flare up at knowing how Wanda was treated while in prison. She decides to trust Wanda; after all, she’d been on her own long enough to make her own decisions.

“Okay,” Laura agrees as Wanda reaches for the car door again. They return to the car together and Laura hands her a tissue box and then starts to drive, this time more slowly. But Wanda doesn’t ask to stop again, and by the time they reach the field Wanda has directed them to, she’s breathing a little easier and she looks a little less pale.

The first thing Laura notices when she gets out of the car and takes in the unfiltered open view is how unabashedly gorgeous it is. A sweeping majesty of a mountain range towers before her, looking closer than Laura knows it probably is. The blue sky is cluttered with streaks of white from wispy clouds, and there’s a silence that even here, stings and cleanses. Laura’s never experienced anything like it, and she’s floored, because this kind of thing is why she loves the Midwest. Its open spaces were always breathtaking and calming. But this was a different kind of calming, something pure and beautiful and _different_.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Isn’t it?” Wanda smiles and tips her head back, letting the wind brush over her face and pull at her dark hair. “I came out here for the first time after I came to the town. I found that it was a good place for me to think.”

Laura looks around, hugging her arms to her body as the wind nips at her bare skin. “Lila's asking about you,” she says after a moment, glancing at Wanda. “She says she wants you come to visit.”

“I wish I could,” Wanda says sadly, showering red sparks at the air with a flick of her hand. “I miss your children. I miss your home.”

“I’m proud of you,” Laura offers. “For fighting back.”

Wanda’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Thank your husband. If he did not push me, I would not have been able to.”

“I do thank him,” Laura replies, stepping forward and taking Wanda’s hand. “Every day.”

Wanda makes a small noise in the back of her throat. “You should not be thankful.” She blinks, allowing a few tears to spill over. “I took him away from you. Your life is different now, because of me.”

Laura’s heart shatters into pieces. “No, Wanda...no, don't think that. Please.” Laura gathers her in her arms, pulling her close. “Clint will help _whoever_ he feels needs him. It’s why I love him. I know you know that in the same way I do.”

Wanda nods, and Laura wipes more of her tears away.

“Wanda, listen to me. I will never, ever be mad at you for anything that happened. I will never be mad at Clint for helping you. You’re family. We do things together as a family, and you were in trouble. Nothing -- not your powers, not your situation -- made me angry.” Laura pauses, thoughts snapping into place in her brain, and she looks down at Wanda. “Are _you_ angry?”

Wanda looks both terrified and frustrated. “Yes,” she admits, her voice hardening. “But I do not know why.”

“Do you want to do something about it?”

Wanda looks around uncertainly, her eyes fixating on the field in front of her. “I am afraid I will lose control. The house is not that far away. And you are right here.”

“I think yelling -- or doing whatever you need to do -- will prove that you’re more in control than you think,” Laura counters smartly. “It could be a way of regaining that control. And I trust you. You know that, right?”

Wanda looks at Laura, her mouth lifting in half a smile. “Clint told me he trusted me, too. Even when I almost hurt him.”

Laura isn’t sure what to say back, but before she can think of something, Wanda puts her hands together. Laura finds herself stepping away as Wanda pools a ball of red energy between her palms, the crinkle in her brows becoming more prominent the harder she concentrates. Laura swears she feels the ground rumble beneath her and she’s not actually _scared_ , because she trusts Wanda the same way she trusts Clint and Natasha. But she also realizes in that moment she’s never seen the full effect of Wanda’s powers.

The ball of energy becomes brighter and more overwhelming, until Wanda curls her fingers tightly and releases the fireball into the sky. As she does so, she lets out a scream that causes Laura to cringe, mostly out of volume. Wanda’s yell is guttural and agonized, a cry that’s shrouded in something more feral, as if she’s releasing everything she hasn’t been able to talk about and all the emotions bottled up inside her body. It’s a scream Laura’s familiar with, in a strange way, even if she hasn't emitted it herself.

The fireball explodes above both of them, tainting the sky with brilliant pink light that stains the pristine blue, and a few rocks tumble harmlessly down the mountainside in the distance as Wanda falls to her knees with a strangled cry. Laura immediately moves, thinking she’s going to be sick again, and when she bends down she finds Wanda breathing heavily.

Laura waits, giving her as much space as she can, and then puts her hand on her back. She tries to imagine being at home, baking cookies in her warm kitchen, her children laughing and playing close by. She had been worried then, too, and had told herself it didn’t matter. Wanda deserved her -- and her family -- and someone who wouldn’t run because she was scared.

“Do you want to walk now for a little bit?”

“Yes,” Wanda says raggedly, slipping her hand into Laura’s as she pulls her up. Her voice is exhausted but her breathing is now clear and steady. “Yes, I do.”

 

***

 

By the time Laura's on her way back to Bobbi and Hunter’s house, she's feeling the burn of the wind on her cheeks and exhaustion from the past day’s drive is starting to catch up with her. While she drives, she watches Wanda out of the corner of her eye, vigilant in case she has any more episodes. Bobbi meets them at the door, leaning against the frame, and Laura half wonders if she’s been watching.

“Good walk?”

“Very good,” Wanda says with a small sigh, walking inside without giving anything more. Laura follows, and Bobbi shuts the door behind her.

“So.” She turns on her heel and smirks. “Tell me. Just how stressful is it being married to Clint Barton?”

“It’s not so bad,” Laura protests. Bobbi grins more.

“Oh, no? How many times does he spill coffee on himself?”

“Not as often as he spills it on me,” Laura grumbles, and Bobbi laughs under her breath.

“It’s easy to tell.”

“Tell what?” Laura asks, taking off her shoes and coat.

Bobbi shrugs. “That you love him.”

Laura stares at Bobbi, puzzled at her words. “Of course I do. He’s…” She trails off. “I love him more than anything. I have for years. I would’ve never imagined myself being married to someone like him, but now that I am, I can’t imagine being married to anyone else.”

“I know.” Bobbi smiles wistfully. “The truth is, I talk a lot about regrets. Hunter knows.” She looks at the floor, studying it intently. “But I meant it. As much as I cared about Clint, we would have never worked out as a domestic couple. We could never settle down.”

Laura chews on her bottom lip. “You make me sound like some sort of saint. It wasn’t easy. It’s still not easy.”

“No relationship is,” Bobbi offers, and Laura tucks hair behind her ear as Bobbi nods towards the small kitchen area. “Do you want to stay for a late lunch? I made pasta.”

Laura almost laughs at the normalcy of the request, but manages to catch herself. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”

She follows Bobbi into the kitchen and puts out glasses and silverware at her direction, while Bobbi stirs a pot of bubbling red sauce. When Hunter finally emerges from another room, he doesn’t bother to hide his disdain and wariness at Laura's presence. She ignores him; it’s like dealing with Cooper’s silent treatments except Hunter’s not twelve. At least, not physically.

“Laura.”

Laura looks up from folding napkins to find Wanda standing in front of her.

“Can you give this to Clint, please?” Wanda holds out an thickly stuffed envelope that’s been hastily sealed shut. Laura takes it and puts it in her purse.

“Of course.”

“And make sure --” She pauses. “Make sure he’s alone when it opens it, please?”

“Of course,” Laura repeats quietly, giving Wanda an easy smile as Bobbi claps her hands.

“Pasta’s on the table. And I’ve got wine, too, but I don’t know --”

“Clint was a bartender,” Laura interrupts flatly, getting up. “I’ll take the wine.”

Bobbi laughs and walks to the fridge. When Laura notices Wanda is lingering at the table, she moves closer to Bobbi and drops her voice.

“Will you...you’ll take care of her, right?”

“Of course.” Bobbi’s face morphs into a serious look as she removes the wine from the fridge. “Wanda is important to me, Laura. Even if she wasn’t friends with Clint…I mean, I know what it feels like to be alone. And I won’t let her be alone. I’ll protect her with my life. We both will. And I hope that one day, she doesn’t have to hide.”

“Me too.” Laura smiles sadly, thinking of how Wanda had baked with her at the farm, how she had sat with Clint drinking milkshakes and playing guitar. They were memories that seem as far away as the day that Natasha brought Clint home with a gaping injury in his side, spiraling into Laura’s calm life like a hurricane force. Everything in her life seemed to come in that way, messy and unconventional.

“Like I said, Clint doesn’t know I’m here.” She pauses. “Do you...he doesn’t know, right? That you’re hiding Wanda?”

Bobbi looks sad. “No,” she admits. “He doesn’t.”

“Do you want me to tell him I saw you?”

Bobbi smiles tightly. “No,” she repeats. “I have ways to contact him if I need to. But I think he needs some time with his family before an old girlfriend comes back into his life in some other capacity than just helping him sneak over a border.”

Laura watches Bobbi closely, the way her eyes drop and the way the lines around her mouth tighten in decision. “Fair enough,” she agrees quietly, hearing the soft tread of Wanda’s feet behind her. “If you ever do decide to visit, you should know that you’re more than welcome at the farm. We can even trade stories about how dumb my husband is.”

“I might not be able to say no to that,” Bobbi warns, raising an eyebrow. Laura smiles easily.

“Trust me. I figured as much.”

 

***

 

Clint wakes up well before his alarm, surprised to find Natasha already out of bed. Judging by the sounds coming from downstairs and from the smell of coffee that’s woken him up, he figures that she’s been up for at least an hour already. He reaches for his hearing aids and then gets up slowly, stumbling into the hallway.

He blinks a few times, taking a moment to get his bearings, and then walks towards Nate’s room. The one good thing about his hearing aids, as much as he hated wearing them, was that he could actually pick up on the smallest of sounds that he probably wouldn’t have heard otherwise -- like his son babbling to himself. He pushes open the door with a groan, and thinks about how Laura liked to tease him about getting old. Maybe he really was.

“Hey, little man...hey, there you go.”

Clint leans over the crib, and Nate’s face breaks into a grin when he sees his father. Clint smiles back, unable to help himself. He leans over the crib and puts his hands in front of his eyes, holding them there before taking them away. Nate squeals with some kind of strange laughing sound, and Clint repeats the move, much to his son’s delight. Nate rolls around and sticks one leg straight up in the air, and then manages to stick his foot in his mouth, sucking on his own toes. Clint laughs as he reaches over to pick him up.

“You’re eating your toes? You’re so hungry you have to eat your toes? Who are you, me?”

“Bruh!” Nate replies with a hiccup. Or at least, Clint thinks that’s what he says. He adjusts him in his arms and then lifts him up high, pretending to fly him like an airplane. Nate lets out a shriek and Clint turns around to see Natasha standing in the doorway.

“You’ve been up awhile.”

Natasha shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. I went downstairs to get water and figured I might as well at least make coffee...I was just about to get him up. Figured you could sleep a little.”

Clint bounces the baby in his arms, making a face. Nate giggles and leans into Clint’s chest.

“He was eating his toes. I think he’s hungry.”

“Mmmm. That seems to be the Barton way of saying you’re hungry,” Natasha says dryly as Clint glares at her. “I can take get him breakfast if you wanna deal with the other two.”

“I’m assuming Laura’s coming back today,” Clint grumbles as he passes Nate over with one more kiss.

“What, you can’t handle being a parent without Laura around?” Natasha’s tone is teasing but Clint knows it’s a threat of real judgement.

“Shut up, Romanoff.” He follows Natasha out of the room and goes into the bathroom to take some Advil and splash water on his face. He stares down his toothbrush, considering, and then reaches for the mouthwash instead.

“Day two,” he mutters to himself after he spits, staring in the mirror, water dripping down his cheeks and landing in his matted scruff. “Day two. Come on, Barton. Man up.”

He peeks into Cooper and Lila’s room; Cooper’s already up and pulling on his jeans and Lila is dressed and sitting in bed reading.

“Morning, kiddo.” He leans over and kisses Cooper’s head, smoothing down his hair, which is sticking up straight on each side like a perfect pair of devil horns. He figures he'll let Natasha try to brush it into something more respectable after breakfast, because Cooper was less liable to yell at Natasha for touching his hair. “Got your stuff together?”

“Ugh,” Cooper grunts, bending down to grab his bookbag. Clint hides a smile, because Cooper obviously didn’t drink coffee yet, but Clint knows his son is as bad as he is when it comes to waking up in the morning. Fortunately, he knows his daughter takes after Laura more than anyone else, and he’s grateful for it. He's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to handle two kids who were morning grouches.

“Hey, Lila baby. Ready for your makeover?”

“I want the _fancy_ ones today,” Lila announces as Clint sits down on the bed.

“The fancy ones, huh?” He reaches for her hair and the brush sitting on her bed, and starts partitioning her thick mane into messy sections before working the strands into two intricate braids, his fingers flying quickly with practiced ease. “You’re fancy enough now for your Girl Scout meeting later, right?”

Lila gives Clint a look as he finishes securing the braids with thin elastics. “We’re not Girl Scouts, daddy,” she explains sternly. “We’re _Brownies_.”

“Right.” Clint stifles a laugh. “You’re right, I’m sorry. You wanna go help Auntie Nat with breakfast?”

Lila nods and gets up, running into the hall, and Clint listens to her clomp down the stairs. He surveys the room and then pushes Cooper gently towards the door as he yawns, one hand rubbing his head and messing up the previously smoothed down hair that Clint had attempted to tame.

“Daaaaaad. You’re doing it again.”

Clint blinks as Cooper turns around with a glare. “Doing what?”

“That _thing_ where you look at me like I’m a baby.”

Clint can’t help but smile, and shoves Cooper a little harder. “Just miss morning rituals. Go downstairs and get ready.”

Cooper drags himself down the stairs and Clint follows, the noise getting louder as he reaches the landing.

“Auntie Nat made a mess!” Lila announces in delight as Clint walks into the kitchen, bypassing Cooper who is packing up his binders in the living room. Clint watches, half amused, as Natasha bends down and drops paper towels on the floor. Nate is sitting in his high chair surrounded by a tray full of Cheerios, which he’s concentrating on moving around very intricately rather than eating.

“The dishwasher overflowed,” Natasha says shortly, and Clint thinks he would laugh if it wasn’t for Natasha’s scowl, the one that clearly signaled she was going to go into murder mode. He makes a quick decision in his head, trying to figure out if Laura will kill him more for suggesting what he’s about to suggest, or for letting Natasha go rogue by forcing Lila and Cooper to be morning maids.

“Alright,” Clint says, raising his voice. “In the car, muchkins. Who wants McDonalds for breakfast?”

Natasha shoots him a dirty look, and Clint shrugs. “They’re gonna be late otherwise.”

“I’m well aware,” Natasha snaps. “But I have to clean up the kitchen.”

“I’ll help you when I get back,” Clint promises as Nate yells, adding to the commotion. “I’ll even get you hash browns if you want.” He blows her an exaggerated kiss and Cooper makes a gagging noise behind him. Clint turns around to shush him as Lila marches into the living room so Clint can help her put on her coat.

“Egg McMuffins for all,” Clint announces as he opens the door, grabbing for his own coat and stepping onto the porch. He stops short at the sight of an unfamiliar truck pulling up the road, and narrows his eyes at the sight as his body tenses up out of habit.

“Dad?”

“Coop, get in the car with your sister,” Clint replies easily, knowing Cooper hasn’t missed the change in his stance. He could at least pretend for Lila’s sake that things hadn’t totally changed in their life. Cooper takes his sister's hand and walks towards the car, and Clint closes the door slowly behind him. At least he was outside; he doesn’t want his children to see him act violently again but if he has to protect himself, it's easier to do it out of the house. The truck gets closer, and then stops a few feet away. As the cab door opens, Clint swears he hears a faint bark. He rubs his ears, ignoring the slight ringing that’s become constant. Maybe his aids are acting up after all.

“Scott?”

He blinks in surprise as Scott gets closer, and Clint exhales loudly, trying to work through a thousand questions in his mind. Out of all the people who he thought might show up on his doorstep, _Scott_ \-- the man he barely knew, the one he hadn’t even seen since the Raft -- was the least likely candidate.

“Hey, uh...Clint! Hi!” Scott smiles widely and walks forward a little more quickly. “Wow, I know you said you were out of the way and all, but --”

“How the hell did you find me?” Clint asks sharply, curious but also cautious. Scott seemed like the last person who would use him for some sort of mission; then again, Clint couldn’t rule out the possibility he was working under someone.

“Oh.” Scott looks embarrassed. “Uh, Wanda told me how to get to you. I guess I should’ve called first. Sorry about that, I’ve been driving for days and I’m on my way to California…”

“It’s fine,” Clint interrupts, rubbing his goatee. “Listen, I gotta bring my kids to school, but do you wanna come along and we can grab something to eat?” _And talk_ , he thinks, because he still can’t figure out why Scott has shown up here so randomly. He’s distracted by another bark, this time one that's much louder, and is taken aback when he realizes that there’s a dog sitting in the back of Scott's truck.

“Oh, he’ll be fine for awhile,” Scott says airily, waving his hand around as he watches Clint react. “The dog, I mean. I found him on the side of the road, and I think he’s just happy to be not starved anymore. Surprisingly well-mannered, for a stray. Probably needs to nap anyway.”

“Uh huh.” There’s something nagging in the back of his mind at Scott’s words, and he ignores Natasha and Laura’s voices about _picking up strays_. Clint waves Scott over to the truck and gets in the driver’s seat. Lila leans over to tug at the back of Clint’s shirt as Scott climbs in.

“Daddy, who’s that?”

“This is my friend Scott, from work,” Clint explains as he starts the engine and backs the truck up.

“Hi, Scott! Are you a super person, too?”

Scott laughs. “Yeah,” he admits. “I am.”

“Cool!” Lila puts her chin in her hands. “What’s your power thingy? My daddy shoots arrows really good.”

Scott clears his throat quietly. “Well, I can make myself really small. Like, small enough to fit in your hand.” He smiles briefly. “Hey, guess what? I have a daughter, too.”

“ _Really_?” Lila’s mouth stretches into a grin. “What’s she called?”

“What’s her name,” Clint corrects as he continues to drive. Lila purses her lips.

“What’s her name,” she repeats slowly.

Scott smiles again. “Cassie. She’s a lot like you, but a little older.”

“Does she like reading, too?”

“So how come you weren’t here with dad when all his friends came to our house before?” Cooper interrupts before Scott can answer. Clint glances in the rearview mirror and gives his son a look, which Cooper stealthily ignores.

“Uh.” Scott looks a little confused, and Clint realizes he probably had no freaking idea what happened before they more or less kidnapped him in California to come help fight in Germany. “I didn’t know your dad then, actually. I met him while we were away on this trip.”

“Oh.” Cooper leans back in the truck. “You look familiar, though. Were you in jail with dad, too?”

“Coop, that’s enough,” Clint says sharply as he pulls into the McDonalds drive-thru. He shoots Scott a look. “Sorry. My son usually knows better.” He meets Cooper’s eyes as he says the words, and Cooper shrugs. Clint sighs, because he knows he can’t do much other than stew silently. His son had every right to ask questions, and he certainly wasn’t asking anything out of the ordinary, even if it wasn’t entirely appropriate.

"You were a bad man like daddy?" Lila asks, looking at her brother. Clint twists around in his seat.

"No one was bad," he reassures. "We just got into a little trouble, that's all. Now, tell me what you want for breakfast."

His diversion is successful, with Lila immediately dropping the conversation to add her order to Cooper's morning meal. Two Egg McMuffins, one order of hash browns, two orange juices and two coffees later, Clint is on morning drop-off duty for real. He drops Lila off first, who leaves with a large smile and crumbs all over her face that Clint desperately tries to wipe off with little success.

“See you later, kiddo,” he calls when he lets Cooper out at the curb of the middle school, waving his son off. Once Clint has watched him safely enter the school building, he slumps back in the seat of the truck.

“Breakfast, for real?”

Scott nods a little too eagerly and Clint drives away from the school, trying to figure out where to go. There was a diner a few miles away, somewhere in between the school and the house, and Clint liked it well enough.

“How’d you get away?” he asks as they drive. “From Wakanda, I mean.”

Scott looks surprised at his question. “I just...kinda left. I mean, I wasn’t really gonna stay there, anyway. I had a family to go home to. They let me leave pretty easily.”

“And that’s where you are now? On your way back?”

Scott nods. “Yeah. I took a detour because I wanted to…I mean, I wanted to see you. I’d have called, but...you know.”

Clint lets out a long breath. “Yeah. I know.” He tightens his fingers around the steering wheel and tries not to think about the fact that Scott could have unknowingly had people following him. The odds that anyone cared enough about Scott to trail him was unlikely -- his reason for being in jail was literally because he was on the wrong side of the law, unlike Clint, who knew exactly what he was getting himself into by going into the fight. Regardless, he was still part of a life Clint knows he’ll never be able to shake now.

“Your kids.” Scott nods towards Clint as they pull into the diner parking lot. “They’re really great.”

Clint snorts, turning off the engine. “You’ve spent all of ten minutes with them, and most of those ten minutes were while they were eating McDonalds, which my wife would never _ever_ let me do if she with us.” He takes out his phone and sends a quick text to Natasha explaining his whereabouts, quickly ignoring the multiple vibrations that he knows are likely exclamations of surprise at who he’s with and probably a lot of bitching about being left alone with a baby.

“Hey, believe me, I know the drill.” Scott gets out of the car and follows Clint up the steps. “Your daughter -- six?”

“Almost. Five, technically, but she’ll be six in January.” He pulls open the door. “Cooper’s twelve. Don’t ask about the age difference.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Scott replies smoothly as they grab seats at the counter, Clint signaling for coffee.

“They still share a room. It’s annoying sometimes, but I can’t seem to get my act together and finish the guest bedroom for my son, especially with a new baby -- _fuck_ , I’m sorry.” He shoves a hand over his mouth and stifles a laugh. “This is really strange, talking about my family with someone who I barely know. I don’t even do this with Cap.”

“I get it,” Scott offers, and Clint laughs again.

“Yeah, that’s the strange thing. You do.” He gratefully accepts coffee from the young woman behind the counter, who also plunks menus down in front of them. “Do they know you’re coming home? Your daughter and your ex-wife?”

Scott shakes his head. “I, uh. I thought about calling Cassie -- I have ways to get to her that involve not speaking to my wife. It’s a long story, but I don’t want her to worry, you know? And who knows if someone would trace my call.”

“Well, at least you’ve adopted the Avengers paranoia,” Clint says dryly as a waitress waves a pad in front of them, indicating she needs to take their order. Clint orders the farmer’s breakfast because he’s suddenly starving, and Scott orders an egg white omelette. Clint keeps his thoughts to himself because he doesn’t think he knows Scott well enough yet to judge his eating habits. The man was a stringbean, anyway.

“Look, I wanted to come and thank you.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Thank _me_?”

“I know what happened on the Raft. I mean, the whole hearing thing…”

“Oh.” Clint forces out a smile. “Well, then I’m sure you know they gave me hearing aids. Not exactly ideal, but at least I’m not totally deaf.”

“Yeah.” Scott swallows. “It doesn’t change anything, though.”

Clint sips more coffee. “How do you mean?” he asks carefully. He’d never expect Scott to care this much, but then again, his only real conversation with the guy had been while he was recovering from being punched out in a quinjet on the way to jail.

Scott shrugs. “Just...you’re a dad, right? You do this whole saving the world gig, you go home, you fill out school forms and make lunches. Not many people know what that means.”

“I guess,” Clint replies. “I mean, I don’t really go talking about my family to everyone I meet.”

“No, but you...I dunno. I guess you inspire me, kinda. That sounds really annoying, I know.” Scott smiles sheepishly. “I don’t know if we’ll ever get to do anything cool again with this whole Accords thing. But you’ll always be Hawkeye to me. A really great Avenger.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever used that term when describing me before, except maybe my kids,” Clint says. “And maybe my wife.” _And Natasha, in bed,_ he thinks, and those words were usually uttered when he _wasn’t_ avenging.

“Trust me, I’ve seen enough to know,” Scott boasts. “Had a spat with the Falcon before we even met for real. And guess what? I kicked his ass.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah, small potatoes. But you and me? Fighting together like that?” Scott smiles cheekily. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

Clint can’t help but smile back. He finds himself wondering if him and Natasha would ever really be a team again, the way they had always been. It seemed unlikely that there would be _any_ kind of team again anytime soon, given the fact they were all still so scattered, with half of them being considered fugitives. Then again, he never would have thought HYDRA would happen, either.

“Couple of dads fighting evil,” he decides as their breakfast plates arrive. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Maybe our girls should play together one day and see if they can fight better than us.”

“Oh, please.” Clint snorts. “Lila was doing that at two. I’m actually worried she’s gonna grow up and ask to shoot a gun." 

“Cassie’s a natural smartass,” Scott trades as he bites into his omelette. “Gets it from me, I guess, but I gotta hand it to the girl -- she’s got a lot of pride. She’ll stand up to anyone, even if they hurt her.”

“Takes after her father,” Clint says, offering Scott a smile. He’s actually starting to _like_ Scott, in a strange way. Scott looks down at his plate in response.

“Yeah, well. A criminal father isn’t much to write home about. But she loves me anyway. I buy her weird gifts.”

Clint spears a rogue potato with his fork. “Better than lying to your kids for years about what you really did for a living. Somehow, they don’t hate me for that. Though my oldest kind of hit the fan when he realized I wasn’t a police officer.”

Scott laughs, then offers to foot the bill for breakfast, which Clint can’t really complain about. He checks his watch and his phone, finding six missed messages and one phone call from Natasha. He doesn’t bother to open them, but he can see the beginning text of her latest one, which reads IF YOU GET KIDNAPPED I AM TAKING ALL THE SEX TOYS. He quickly shoves it back into his pocket before Scott can question why he’s suddenly smiling.

“Long drive to California,” Clint comments sometime later as they pile in Clint’s trunk and prepare to drive back to the house. “About two days, right?”

“You’ve driven it?” Scott looks impressed and Clint shakes his head, thinking of the quinjet hidden under the trees, perpetually sheathed in stealth mode thanks to Natasha’s warnings.

“No, but my wife actually just went out there to see her dad.”

“Oh.” Scott sighs to himself. “Yeah, it’s not really the best drive to make by yourself. But I’ve got some friends to see along the way, so at least it’s not like, a total solo trip, y’know?”

Clint smiles faintly. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that.”

He spends the rest of the ride mostly lost in thought; Scott seems more than content to relax and stay silent and Clint thinks it’s probably been awhile since he’s felt comfortable enough to do that with anyone. He hadn’t really talked to Scott all that much when he was with Wanda, but he hadn’t really wanted to, either. As much as he’d known Scott had been a father, there was a difference that Clint was too aware of -- Scott had joined the fight willingly, almost immaturely, whereas Clint had pretty much been forced into it. It had made him feel critical towards the new guy, his feelings about Wanda and leaving his children still raw in his gut.

“Thanks again,” Scott says as Clint pulls into the driveway about twenty minutes later. “This was really great.”

Clint nods, shutting off the engine. “Yeah. Anytime.” His eagle-eye notices a green post-it note stuck to the front of the door, fluttering in the fall breeze. Natasha had probably gone out, though Clint has no idea where. He’s mostly surprised that she isn't sitting outside waiting to maim him, but he figures it’s in both of their best interests to keep Scott out of that part of their life. Wanda didn’t even know about Natasha, other than the fact she practically lived at the farm because of her closeness to Clint’s family. Scott follows his gaze, squinting through the dirty windshield.

“Note from your wife?”

“Uh, yeah,” Clint says, hiding a smile. He’d deal with Natasha’s annoyances later. “Thanks again for breakfast.”

“Sure,” Scott says as he gets out of the car. The dog, which has been silently lying in the back of Scott’s truck for the past hour or so, immediately jumps up and starts barking enthusiastically.

“I’m impressed he stayed like that the whole time.”

“Oh, yeah.” Scott walks over and lets him out of the truck, and the dog starts to run around the lawn. “Like I said, I found him on the side of the road somewhere around Atlanta. He’s pretty well behaved. Looks like he was just abandoned or ran away, but no tag, nothing. I couldn’t leave him.”

“I get it,” Clint says, because he does, in more ways than one. The dog runs straight over to Clint and starts trying to jump on him, and Scott laughs.

“Dog seems to like you.”

“Good thing you’re gonna leave before my kids see,” Clint says, reaching down to stroke the light fur. “They’ve been asking for a dog for awhile now. Well, my son. My daughter wants a horse. My wife is adamantly against both.”

“You could take him, if you want,” Scott offers. Clint laughs out loud, shaking his head.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Scott continues. “I know he’s a stray, but he seems okay. No ailments or fleas or anything that I can see. Honestly, I was going to bring him to one of those animal shelters as soon as I found one I felt comfortable with -- you know you can’t be too trusting these days. Either that or I was gonna bring him home to Cassie, but she’s already got a pet. Well, a large ant. It’s still a pet. She could get by without a dog. Maybe it’d be good for you.”

Clint finds himself actually considering Scott’s absurd proposal. Maybe a dog _would_ be good around the house -- certainly a good companion for Laura if him and Natasha ever really went away again and Laura needed a sense of comfort. Cooper was older now, and Lila was getting older, and Clint knows they’d be able to handle responsibility.

“Come on,” Scott urges. “He’s clean, I promise. Let me give you something, even if I don’t have to. And if your wife really hates him, you can take him to a shelter, and at least he'll have a good home somewhere, right?”

Clint bends down as the dog licks his cheek, a little too close to his hearing aid. “Hey there, you. Hey, boy. You _are_ a boy, right?"

The dog yelps in response, and Clint continues to pat him aggressively. "So you like this farm?”

The dog's response is to bark again, and Clint grins wryly.

“Well. I guess your mom’s gonna be mad at me after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this isn't the second-to-last chapter after all. (What can I say, I have no chill.) You guys get one more extra one! Blame me and my outline.
> 
> As always, thank you so so SO much for reading/commenting/kudos'ing/etc. It means the world for me that you're all so invested in this fic and this world. And don't worry...I plan to toy with your feelings a LOT before I end this. ;)


	18. Chapter 18

“Clint.”

“I know.”

“Clint.” Natasha slams the door of the cupboard closed and twists open the cap on the cheap bottle of wine Laura had bought last week.

“I know, Nat! Jesus, be quiet, you’re gonna wake him.”

That does get Natasha to lower her voice, as she glances towards the stairs and then the baby monitor. Nate had been almost asleep by the time she’d gotten home from her walk, mostly wiggling from discomfort thanks to a messy diaper. By the time Natasha had changed him and put him back down in the crib, he had managed to fall asleep again for the time being.

“I cannot believe this.”

“What, that Scott showed up out of the blue? Or that there’s a dog running around the property? _Or_ that you’re drinking from a twenty-four dollar bottle of wine from CVS?” Clint grabs the bottle from her and takes a long swig.

“All of it,” Natasha says shortly, grabbing the bottle back. She eyes him critically. “Laura is going to kill you. And honestly, Clint? You deserve it. I’m going to enjoy watching her lose her shit so much.”

“Hey, you’re part of this, too,” Clint reminds her. “Remember? Second mom, part of the family, that whole thing? I may get thrown into the literal doghouse, but you’re no longer the outsider.”

“I wasn’t here for any of this decision making,” Natasha points out. “You could’ve said no.”

“Come on, you should’ve seen his face.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and takes a drink. “Are you talking about Lang? Or the dog?” When Clint doesn’t answer, she looks looks down at the dog, who is lying by Clint’s feet. “You’re unbelievable. Cooper is going to flip the hell out when he gets home. I hope you’re prepared to deal with him.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Isn’t he cute, though?”

Natasha sighs and sits down. The dog takes that as an opportunity to get up, walking around the kitchen dutifully before settling back on the floor in front of the table, and Clint marvels at how damn compliant he is. He wonders what the dog’s real history was, if he had belonged to someone who just abandoned him or if he had run away. Either way, he clearly wasn't one of those strays that had been living on the street with no family.

“Hey, Nat?”

“Hmmm?” Natasha is intricately studying the wine bottle, as if she’s trying to figure out if it’s in another language or something ridiculous.

“I have a question about Wakanda.”

Natasha looks up at that, her frown deepening. “Yeah. What?”

Clint takes a deep breath. “After, uh...after I woke up, when I was having trouble because I couldn’t hear, you gave me the arrow necklace.”

“Yeah,” Natasha says quietly, her voice catching in her throat. Clint takes notice of the way it comes out thick and heavy, like she’s trying to hide her emotions.

“How did you get it?”

“I told you,” Natasha says, her voice monotone. “I came back to see Laura before I came to rescue you. And then I moved everyone from the farm.”

“I know,” Clint replies. “But I --”

“But what?” Natasha’s voice is suddenly too sharp, and he notices it sounds like she’s trying to keep herself from lashing out. It's an emotion that's barely readable, but Clint knows her so well, he thinks her feelings are practically transparent. “What, Clint?”

The dog looks up at the change in Natasha’s voice, staring at her with expressive eyes, and then Natasha looks down at her hands.

“Clint. When Oksana almost killed you, in Budapest…”

“A memory I’d rather _not_ rehash, thanks very much.”

“You didn’t see her,” Natasha continues. “You didn’t see Laura -- what she went through, how she fell apart. You were critical for days, Clint. We had no idea if you would make it through surgery, the wound was so bad. And before that, I thought you were going to die before we even got you to a hospital.”

Clint rubs his eyes. “Are you going somewhere with this?” He can feel the phantom throb of the knife against his scar; it's been almost 8 years since Budapest and Oksana, and he thinks that memory might never go away.

Natasha draws herself up. “Laura thought it was her fault.”

“How the hell could she think it was her fault?” Clint asks incredulously. “I wasn’t even here when I left.”

“The same reason that Wanda thought you getting hurt on the Raft was her fault, even though she couldn’t have known there was an EMP bomb rigged,” Natasha answers methodically. “Because she loved you."

Clint snorts. " _Love_ is a little strong, Nat. Wanda's like a kid to me. She's not like you."

"She is, in a way," Natasha says with a sad smile. "She looks up to you, and she cares about you, and she thinks you're important. That's everything I was when you brought me in. Well, after I learned not to hate you." She reaches out and rubs the dog's head. "It's what you were to Laura, and I knew that the moment I met her for the first time, even when you were barely conscious. She thought she should have been able to tell something was wrong, and then all of a sudden, she’s asking me to look over her will. Clint, _that’s_ how scared she was that you were going to leave her alone with a six-year-old and an unborn child. I told myself...that’s when I made myself promise I would never let her do that again until you were so old you couldn’t get out of a rocking chair.”

Clint sits back as the dog barks once, and scratches his stubbled chin. “I didn’t know.”

“Why would you know?” Natasha asks abruptly. “It’s not like you woke up after being in intensive care and I told you that your wife thought you were going to die. You already knew that.”

Clint swallows hard. “Okay. So what does this have to do with the question I asked, about the necklace?”

“Everything,” Natasha admits. “I was stupid enough to think that nothing as bad as what happened to you at the airport could happen while you were stuck in the Raft. Maybe I’d have problems getting you out, but I never thought…” She stops and signs the words _ears_ to him, and he nods.

“Not like I could have predicted it, either.”

She shakes her head. “I watched you when you were still undergoing tests, and all I could think about was Budapest. But at least when that happened, I had Laura. And I had Fury, and now...I had no one in Wakanda,” Natasha finishes, her voice breaking. “Not really. And I should've gotten you out of there sooner. I should’ve warned you somehow, or told Steve to warn you. I knew you’d go get Wanda and that you wouldn’t leave.”

“Nat --”

“I had _nothing_ ,” Natasha says furiously. “Except that necklace. That’s the only thing aside from you that I had. That’s the only thing that knew who I even was in this place, and it was my fault you were hurt. So I know it was stupid, I know it sounds stupid...but I needed it.”

Clint swallows, his throat dry and his eyes aching. He gets up, carefully stepping around the lazy, almost-asleep dog and pulls him into her arms. Natasha sighs as she leans her head against his chest, and her cheek presses against his heartbeat.

“Hey, Nat. I love you. I know things have been hard, but I love you, okay? I always will.”

“It’s so strange to hear you get sappy,” she mumbles against his chest. “That’s Laura’s job.”

“In case I need to remind you, I have plenty of years of practice when it comes to being sappy,” Clint responds. “I mean, I _do_ have a little girl.”

Natasha laughs quietly and then raises her head. “You’re pathetic. And now you’re a dog owner. You’re going to get gross and old really fast.”

“Laura already thinks I'm an old man,” Clint responds, raising his head. Natasha brushes her hands over his ears, and he can’t help but flinch.

“You’re getting used to them, at least?”

“Yeah.” Clint says in a low voice. “Kinda. I still...you know I haven’t tried to shoot yet.”

“I know,” Natasha says, letting her hand come to rest on his shoulder. “We’ll deal with that. Maybe we can take Cooper to a range or something soon.”

“You really wanna give that kid a weapon?”

Natasha's upper lip lifts faintly. “Well, he has proven that he’s got a bit of an aggressive streak.”

Clint tries to control a laugh. “Sometimes, I’m not convinced he really didn’t come from you after all.”

“Even though I didn’t know you when he was born? Because I have to remind you of that a lot lately.”

“Yeah, well.” Clint moves so that Natasha can comfortably lie her head on his shoulder. “Maybe I’m finally forgetting you spent a lot of years away from this family.”

“Maybe,” Natasha echoes as the dog barks again behind her. She turns around and sighs.

“He needs a name so I can yell at him.”

“I think I wanna let the kids do that,” Clint says, scratching the underside of his jaw. “Name him, I mean. You know. Just because.”

Natasha smiles, eyeing the stairs. “Well, maybe Nate will get used to it. He hasn’t actually met this new member of the family yet.”

Clint grins. “You wanna wake him up and give it a try?”

Natasha considers this, and then reaches for the bottle of wine again. "Not really."

An hour or so later, Nate has been woken up from his nap, though fortunately for Clint, not by unnatural means. He changes the baby and leaves his shirt off, rocking him against his chest to calm him down, until Nate sighs contentedly and blows a spit bubble against his t-shirt. Clint curbs a smile and thinks of the hours it took to get Cooper to stop crying much less stop screaming; they joked about it when no one was listening but Nate really was a child from another planet sometimes.

“Hey, you wanna go meet a new friend?” Clint asks softly as he walks down the stairs, holding Nate in two arms. Natasha has let the dog outside to run around, and (Clint assumes) go to the bathroom. He opens the front door and the dog comes bounding up the steps from the lawn, rubbing against Clint’s feet with a loud bark. Nate lets out a high-pitched sound of glee that sounds like it's sixteen decibels high and makes Clint cringe.

“Da-gah-la!”

“Yeah, that’s a doggie,” Clint says once his ears stop ringing, sitting down on the steps and putting Nate next to him. The baby's chubby stomach hangs over his diaper as he leans forward to touch the dog, and Clint shifts so that Nate can cuddle him more comfortably. The dog, for what it’s worth, seems entirely content to stay still while Nate explores his new friend. Clint once again wonders if he’s just that type of stray, or if he came from somewhere where he was used to being surrounded by lots of people.

He turns at the sound of the door opening again, and then Natasha’s sticking the phone in his hand without comment. He takes it and shoves it between his ear and his shoulder, keeping a watchful eye on his son.

“Natasha told me the dishwasher overflowed.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, deciding to bypass his reasoning for breakfast decisions, because what Laura doesn't know (if she doesn't know) won't hurt her. “I got it fixed a little bit, but we should have someone come take a look.”

“Other than that, I assume the house is still standing.”

“Aw, come on,” Clint mutters. “Who are you, your dad?”

Laura sighs. “I’m coming home,” she says, and he can hear the roar of the car engine in the background. “I’m about four hours out, so I should be home after dinner. I think there’s still some leftover potpie and bread in the fridge from the PTA potluck a few days ago. You’re picking up Lila from school, right?”

“And then taking her to her gymnastics lesson, and then picking Cooper up after practice,” Clint confirms. “I can parent, Laur. I swear.”

“Sometimes, I’m not so sure,” Laura responds as Nate laughs again, pitching forward. Clint catches him and steadies him until he’s upright, and the dog barks.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?” Clint leans away from the dog. “Nothing.”

“It sounded like a dog,” Laura says, and Clint can almost see her frown. “Is Hannah’s dog there? Or is there something you don’t want to tell me?”

“Why would I not want to tell you something?” Clint asks defensively.

“Because you have about nine different tells,” Laura explains. “And three of them I can figure out over the phone.”

Clint grimaces and thinks of Natasha’s words. “It’s kinda hard to explain.”

“I see.” Laura’s voice is both dangerous and nuanced. “Do I want to know now, or when I get home?”

Clint considers this very serious question and watches Nate continue to play with the dog. The dog turns his head and licks Nate’s ear.

“You know Scott? One of the guys who was in Germany with me?”

“Yes,” Laura says carefully. “Why?”

“Well, he came over for a visit -- don’t worry, he only knew where we lived because Wanda told him. He’s actually really nice, got a daughter around Lila’s age, which we should take advantage of at some point. We went to breakfast, and then he came back to the house, and --”

“Clint, do I need to pull over?”

“Look, we kinda...we got a dog.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone, and for a few moments, the only sound is Nate burping and dog's panting as he licks his own leg.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah.” He looks at the dog. “It’s kind of a long story. But, um. I think the kids will be happy? Coop’s been wanting a dog.”

“Lila wants a horse, and you don’t see me walking over to the nearest stable and bringing a horse home,” Laura responds hotly.

“I just...come on, Laur. Nate’s really loving him.” As if on cue, the baby reaches for the dog’s tail. “I’ll take a picture. He’s so cute you can’t even yell.”

"Are you using our baby to bribe me into keeping a pet because you think it'll be cute for photo ops?"

Clint shrugs to himself. "Maybe."

Laura breathes in and out a couple of times. “Please put Natasha back on,” she says after a moment, and Clint can hear the annoyance residing in her voice.

“Uh. I love you?”

Laura sighs and Clint swears he can almost hear a smile in her words. “You're going to kill me one day. I love you too, you idiot.”

 

***

 

Laura leaves Oregon and Wanda with a heavy heart and a slightly more settled frame of mind; despite not being entirely happy about leaving Wanda and not knowing the next time she’ll see her, she feels better now that she’s spent time with her.

“Do not work too hard,” Wanda had told Laura before she left. “My parents always worked too hard, but Clint is home. He should enjoy time with his family. And you should enjoy time with him.” The hug afterwards had felt like a blanket, something warm and comforting, as if Laura had found part of her home in Wanda the same way she knows Wanda had found part of her home at the farm.

She drives slowly through the winding roads and sometimes deserted highways, Wanda’s letter to Clint lying on the seat next to her like precious cargo. She knows she’ll never open it, but she has to admit her eagerness to get home is partly because she wants to see her children again and partly because she wants to give it to Clint.

Which, she knows, involves telling Clint where she’s really been for the past four days. Laura sighs to herself, white-knuckling the wheel. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she knew that from the moment she decided to go find Wanda without telling him.

In Kansas, she stops to eat and to call Clint. He sounds settled and calm, passing the phone around to Cooper and Lila before Nate tries to stick the receiver in his mouth. (Which is what Laura assumes based on the slurping noises.) She finds herself in a good mood before she falls asleep in a crappy motel, because maybe things were getting back to normal after all. Clint seemed to be handling everything at the house with no major mishaps. Granted, it had only been four days, but Laura feels like she’s been away a lifetime.

Which is why when she calls Clint from the highway and he tells her that he’s maybe, possibly, no _definitely_ adopted a stray dog, she has to stop herself from screaming out loud.

“A dog,” Laura mutters after she hangs up the phone, chucking it into the passenger seat. “A freaking _dog_!” She considers calling her mother to complain, but realizes that will just lead to more questions about why she went away in the first place, and Laura’s not ready to talk about that just yet -- at least, not before she tells Clint. Instead, she drives to the nearest Sonic and orders a large shake, treating herself to calm her annoyance and relishing in the fact that she doesn’t have to worry about three kids who will spill ice cream all over the car floor when she's not paying attention.

She makes it back to the farm by the time the sun is setting, lowering its golden dome over the peaked roof of the house. The light in Lila and Cooper’s room is on, and a discarded football is lying on the grass, signaling that Clint must have let Cooper play before dinner. She quickly checks for signs of their newest addition, half expecting to be trampled once she gets out of the car.

The landscape surrounding the farm is quiet, however, along with most of the noise coming from the house. The windows are open and Laura can hear faint talking, but aside from that, there’s nothing that seems out of the ordinary. Laura grabs the letter from the seat next to her and opens the door, stretching and arching her back against the outside of the minivan. _Home_. Oregon had been nice, and she hadn’t wanted to leave Wanda, but god, she had missed home. Home had smells of brownies and sunken in cushions and paint stains on even the most scrubbed out parts of the floor in the playroom Clint had built. Home had Natasha and Clint and her children, a soft and safe atmosphere that felt worlds away from the dangerous world Laura knew her lovers involved themselves in, even though it wasn't so long ago that they were at risk of becoming compromised.

“Guess who?” Laura asks as she opens the front door, dropping her duffel bag. She sticks the letter in her back pocket. There’s a loud bark -- of course there is -- and then Lila is running down the hallway, barreling into Laura’s arms.

“Mommy I missed you! Did you bring me presents?”

Laura laughs, scooping her up. “This wasn’t a trip like daddy’s, baby girl,” she says as she kisses her on each cheek and then on her forehead.

“Mom!” Cooper runs into the living room, his face breaking into a grin. “Mom, guess what? We got a dog!”

As Lila wiggles out of her arms, Laura gets her first good look at the animal that’s apparently been adopted into the family without her permission. He’s smaller than Laura’s expected for some reason but good-sized overall, big enough to run around with Cooper but not too big that she’d be worried about him getting hurt. One eye is drooping slightly and one ear is a little bent, but his fur seems clean (as far as Laura can tell) and his tail wags enthusiastically as he bounds after Cooper, staring up at Laura and taking her in.

“Um.” Clint follows slowly, rubbing his ears. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” Laura says, stepping around Cooper and Lila and the dog. Clint hugs her tightly, nuzzling her neck.

“Sorry.”

“Just when I think you can’t do something that would be worse than joining SHIELD, you get a pet,” Laura says as she pulls away. Over his shoulder, she can spy Natasha in the kitchen, putting away food.

“For the record, Nat told me you’d be pissed.”

“Right now, I’m biting my tongue on a lot of words that I can’t say,” Laura says pointedly. “How are your ears?”

“Okay,” Clint says. “We’ve been practicing -- hey, Coop.”

Cooper turns around from where he’s been petting the dog, and Clint signs _what’s your name?_ Cooper grins and signs the letters of his own name, and Laura can’t help but smile.

“See? We do pretty good when you’re away.”

“I went away and you got a dog,” Laura reminds him, leaving her children and walking into the kitchen. Natasha’s in the middle of wiping down the table, and Laura leans against the doorway.

“Sorry,” Natasha apologizes when she catches sight of Laura watching silently. “Gimme a moment before any kind of affection. Lila kind of demolished her dinner.”

“Oh, no.” Laura grins. “I’m perfectly content to stand here and watch you be a domestic housewife. I think I’ve earned it.”

Natasha throws her a look, and then leaves the sponge on the table, marching over to Laura. “That’s the kind of talk the Black Widow doesn’t tolerate,” she teases under her breath, leaning forward to kiss her quickly. Laura nips at her ear as she turns her head.

“That’s for baiting me when you know I can’t do anything about it,” she says as Natasha makes a wounded noise in her throat.

“Alright, kiddo,” Clint says, walking back into the kitchen with Cooper and the dog on his heels. “Mom’s home, so that means pajamas on. Let’s go. What’s that?”

Laura can't see his face, but she realizes he must be looking at her back pocket. She turns around. “It’s, uh.” She reaches into her pocket and takes the letter out, putting out it on the table. “It’s a letter.”

“From your dad?”

“No,” Laura says slowly, avoiding Natasha’s eyes as she walks out of the room purposefully, picking Lila up from where she’s lying on the floor singing to herself. “From Wanda. I went to see Wanda.”

For a moment that feels longer than a few seconds, there’s silence, the only sound being the swish of the dog’s tail and some harsh panting and Lila singing something that sounds like “Mr. Floor, I can hear you telling me secrets.” Clint takes a deep, long breath and then turns around.

“Coop, go to your room and do your homework.”

Cooper looks up from petting the dog and shrugs. “Nah, that’s okay dad. You’re trying to get me to leave so you can yell at mom alone, aren’t you?”

“Kinda hoping you wouldn’t catch onto that,” Clint mutters, turning back to glare at Laura. “Why the fu -- why did you go see Wanda, and why didn’t I know about it?”

“Because I didn’t want to tell you,” Laura says, knowing it’s the most honest answer she can give even if it's also the most hurtful. “I’m sorry.”

Clint doesn’t say anything for a long time. “Did Natasha know about this?”

Laura swallows hard. “Yes.”

“ _Laura,_ for god’s sake --”

“Clint, I asked her to get involved,” Laura interrupts. “If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me. Not Nat. She only helped me because I asked her to. I know you’re upset, but I needed to do this alone.”

Clint glances at Cooper again, and Laura can almost see him trying to keep his temper from rising.

“Why?”

“Because…” Laura tries to figure out how to explain herself. “I’m a mother, Clint. I’m a mother, and Wanda…”

“Natasha tells me she’s not my kid.”

“She’s not,” Laura replies. “But she’s a part of our family, and I needed to see her.”

Clint looks down at the floor, and Cooper looks up as they both fall silent. Laura can see the crease between his brows that indicates he wants to ask a question, but isn't sure if he should.

"Mom? Is Wanda okay?"

Laura can’t stop herself from smiling. “Yes,” she says quietly reaching for Clint's hand. “She’s okay. She’s safe.”

Clint lets the air leave his body in one long exhale, and then sinks into the kitchen chair. As if sensing his distress, the dog leaves Cooper and walks over, putting his head on Clint’s lap. The dog stares at Laura with soft brown eyes, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and she shakes her head.

“I can’t believe we have a dog.”

“I can’t believe you went to see Wanda without telling me.”

Laura sits down across from him and takes a banana from the fruit basket. “I wanted to tell you. I did. But Clint…” Laura watches as Cooper, now bored with his parents’ argument and also with the fact that he doesn’t have anything to distract him anymore, wanders into the living room. She waits until he’s out of sight before she continues, keeping her voice soft. “Clint, everyone in this family got some closure.”

“I’m not sure if you could call any of this _closure_ ,” Clint says, gesturing to his ears. “We still don’t know how much these Accords are going to mess up our lives.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Laura replies. “When you were taken, Natasha ran off to help you. When Wanda was locked up, you went to help her. And I stayed here. I took care of the kids, and I worried, and that’s fine, it was _fine_ , because I've been doing that for years. But there were times that things felt so helpless.”

Clint leans back in his chair and frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this way?”

“I didn’t want to,” Laura says hesitantly. “I didn’t know how. You were dealing with so much, you and Nat...I felt selfish making it about me when I wasn’t even there for all of this.”

Clint sticks his tongue in his cheek, chewing on it. “Yeah, but Nat and I never want you to feel that way,” he says as the dog nuzzles into Clint’s leg more. “I know we’re the primary relationship, me and you, but --”

“I don’t care about what we are and who is primary and who isn’t in this house,” Laura says. “I just need you to understand how I felt.” She swallows and shrugs slowly. “You brought Wanda into our home. You gave her a place to feel safe. That made her my responsibility as much as you were responsible for her as a teammate. And I couldn’t just let her be alone without knowing she knew...without hugging her...without making sure she was okay. I’m a mother, Clint.”

“I know,” Clint says, holding out his arms. “I know, Laur.”

She sniffles quietly, dragging her shirt sleeve across her nose, tiredness and vulnerability overwhelming her. “I want to come hug you, but there’s a dog I didn’t authorize you to adopt blocking me.”

Clint chuckles and pushes the dog’s head gently. He looks at Laura and then cocks his head in interest, before trotting away. Laura gets up and sits down on Clint's lap, pressing her cheek against the top of his head.

“I get it,” Clint says, running his fingers gently over her skin. “I still don’t like it, but I get it.”

“That’s all I want you to do,” Laura says thickly, wiping a stray tear against his hair. She nods against him. “She wanted you to read that letter.”

“I know,” Clint says heavily. “I will.” He shifts, indicating she should raise her head. “But I think we owe our kids some personal time right now. I mean, if we can pull Nat away for more than five seconds."

Laura smiles, feeling emotional for a different reason. “She’s really become part of this family. I was so worried, even after we made it official…”

“She’s Nat, you’ll be worried about if she’ll second guess a decision for the rest of your life,” Clint says matter-of-factly. “I should know.”

“Hmmm. It’s almost as if you’ve known _our_ wife longer than me,” Laura teases.

Clint smirks. “Maybe because I have.”

The playful calm is broken when Lila screams from upstairs, and Laura instantly notes the sound is less _let’s play with Aunt Nat_ and more _I’m not taking my bath unless my life depends on it._ She looks at Clint with an eyebrow raise and notices he has the same look on his face at the realization.

“If I take these out, do I get a pass on hearing my kids scream?”

“Absolutely not,” Laura decides, punching him in the shoulder before she pulls him up, shoving him towards the stairs. Clint gets to the top first, and stops short at Lila and Cooper’s room. Laura gives him a puzzled look as she draws up behind him, glancing towards the bathroom, where she assumes Natasha is.

“I’ll check on Nate.”

“Laur,” Clint says quietly, subtly nodding. Laura walks closer, and peeks into the room. Cooper’s sitting on the floor, his notebooks and papers scattered around him, and he’s making letters with his hands, completely focused. Lila’s not screaming anymore and is looking at her brother intently, trying to mimic his movements.

“Think Lila’s gonna learn everything faster than Coop?” he murmurs.

“Wouldn’t be surprised. She was reciting your work phone number in pre-k and Cooper couldn't have done that until second grade.”

Clint smiles at the memory, continuing to watch the scene in front of him. “I can’t figure out if I’m dreaming or not,” he says, and Laura leans her head on his shoulder.

“Sometimes I wish we had less of an age gap,” she adds, her voice equally soft. “I do. It’s hard seeing Cooper feel like he has to be so old all the time. But --”

“But?”

“But at least I never had to deal with two screaming infants at once. It gave me a lot of time to post cute pictures on Facebook.”

Clint stifles a laugh, his face devolving into a bevy of crinkles, and Laura suddenly realizes how grateful she is to be home.

 

***

 

At night, he falls asleep easily.

It’s never the falling asleep part he has issues with, despite the fact that Natasha always berated him for it when they were traveling. It’s the _staying_ asleep part that gets him. To be honest, only when Cooper was born did Clint feel like he was getting any kind of restful sleep, and that was over ten years ago.

He’s back on this Raft in this dream -- back with Ross, who is backhanding him and towering over him, demanding to know where his family is --

Back with Loki, who is asking him who he reports to and why Natasha is so important to him --

Back with Wanda, falling to his knees and ringing filling his ears, the last thing he heard before everything went dark, literally --

He can’t breathe. His chest is seizing, and he opens his eyes, panicking over the fact he can’t pull in any air. Something in his consciousness forces him to yank the pillow away from his head, where his face has been fully pressed into the fabric. Free of any restrictions, his lungs draw in a gasping breath, and he realizes his entire body is drenched in sweat. Natasha stirs next to him, putting a hand on his arm as he kicks out from under the covers.

She asks a question, and her lips move soundlessly. He can’t hear a damn thing, nor can he even read her lips in the dark. When he shakes his head, she signs quickly, and he’s at least able to make out her hand movements.

_What’s wrong?_

He flings his arm towards the night table and grasps for the case holding his aids, shoving them in. “I’ll be fine,” he mutters when sound comes back. He wonders if she can hear how loudly his heart is beating. “Just gonna get water.” He’s surprised Laura hasn’t woken up but he hadn’t missed the fatigue that he'd seen in her gait, a measure of tiredness he knew like the back of his hand after so many years. At this point, he figures the only thing that will actually get her up is Nate screaming his head off.

Natasha gives him a tired but skeptical look as he gets out of bed, trying to show her that he can at least stand and walk, before he leaves the room.

“Dog,” Clint mutters, stepping over the animal who has taken up residence outside Cooper and Lila’s room, sprawled out in front of the door like some sort of protective guard. He walks into the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face, and then lets his hands rest on the porcelain sink until they stop shaking.

Surprisingly, it’s Nathaniel who calms him down, in more ways than one -- he can hear the baby gurgling and grunting with the enhanced sound from his aids and he closes his eyes, focusing on the noise, letting it soothe him. He remembers the breathing exercises he did with Laura during her birthing classes for Nathaniel, the ones she rolled her eyes at when he insisted they go to another round of classes to learn how to breathe again because they'd already done this twice, and would _he_ like to be in labor to remember how painful it is to breathe?

His children. His home. Natasha, and Laura, and his baby.

Bob and Elizabeth and Hannah. People that knew him before Loki, before Ross, before he was any kind of person other than a bartender high school drop-out.

The people that mattered. The people that were his home.

Clint raises his head and then leaves the bathroom, detouring into Nate’s makeshift nursery.

“I should really sleep train you,” he mutters, staring down at his wide-awake son as Nate sticks a plastic ring in his mouth. He picks him up, settling him on his shoulder. “Your sister didn’t need it. Your other brother did. But then if you didn't wake up as much, I wouldn’t get to see your cute face every time. Right?” Clint kisses the top of his head and walks downstairs, bouncing the baby gently. He starts to move towards the couch, but the soft sparkle of light in the kitchen -- wind chimes lazily swinging outside the window and catching a moonlit glow -- catches his eye. He walks over and looks at the letter from Wanda, still lying on the table.

“Let’s see what your Aunt Wanda has to say, okay?”

Nate smiles, showing four tiny teeth in various spots, and Clint opens the envelope with one hand. The papers have been folded messily, stuffed inside in a strange way, and Clint spreads them out on the table, flicking on the overhead light to read better. There’s a small item that falls out of the envelope when he pulls out the letter, which he realizes is a silver ring.

 

_Clint,_

_I have been trying to figure out how and when to send you this letter. It has been awhile since you left Wakanda, but it seems longer. Maybe because I do not know much about what’s going on now, even though I try to get updates on the news. They do not talk about me anymore, not as much. I do not know how long that will last, though._

_I know you are worried about me. I wanted to call you, but I know you have your family, and I know that it is more important. Pietro always said I was never good at telling people how I felt, except for him. And maybe now you. You know that I am alright. I am safe, and that is all that I can tell you right now. But I am hidden and I feel confident that the people I am with will take care of me, until I can figure out where I want to go._

_I cannot change what happened to you and I know that. But I can give you something that might help make up for the hurt I have caused. This is the address where Pietro is buried. No one knows except me, and now you and Laura. When I went away, after Sokovia, I did not want to tell people where I was taking him because I wanted to grieve alone. But you deserve to know, because I do not know when I will be able to go see him again. And you are my family, and I think if he was still here, he would consider you his family, too. He would love Nathaniel._

_I know you have been careful about what to tell your children when it comes to what you do. But I do not want you to hide me from them. I want you to tell them about me and about what happened, so that they understand what it means to be different. I do not want them to be scared of this world when they have the chance to change it. Please do that for me._

_I miss you, and I will come back. I promise._

_~Wanda_

_P.S. - I know Lila already has one of my rings. The ring with the heart is for Laura. It has been passed down in my family and I want her to have it._

 

Clint looks down at the end of the letter, and the world seems to shrink around him as he finishes reading. He stares at the address that Wanda has written, and Nate twists uncomfortably in his arms.

“You’re so lucky, you know that?” Clint rubs the back of his striped pajamas, leaning back into the chair as he tries to steady his emotions. “You’re named after two people who mean a lot to me and your mommy. Two people who changed our lives and who are such good role models. Well, maybe one of them is better at killing than the other, but you'll learn how to make a great bitch face.”

Nate lifts his head at Clint’s voice and looks entirely confused. Clint laughs.

“Yeah, I know. One day, you’ll get it. I’ll explain everything, I promise. You’ll get the full treatment and daddy will tell you all the stories about the people who love you. You, and Natasha, and Wanda, and Pietro, and Sokovia. And then I’ll tell you all about how all of daddy’s friends broke into his house one day and how mommy got mad at them.” He gets up and turns off the kitchen light, and then almost has a heart attack when he gets to the top of the stairs and finds Laura standing there.

“Christ, Laura.” He hisses the words under his breath, so as not to wake anyone else up. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“What, someone else was going to wake up and steal my baby? Also, it’s 3am. Also, the bed was cold, and I heard you get up."

"Anything else?"

"Yes," says Laura. "I wanted to make sure this dog didn’t pee on the floor or something.”

“That’s why you have Natasha,” Clint mutters, glaring at her. “And the dog’s sleeping.”

Laura puts a hand on his arm, angling her head so she can see his face better. “Nightmare?”

Clint nods slowly. “Yeah. Not a big one, but…” He trails off, not knowing how to continue. Laura looks sad.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Clint shakes his head. “No,” he says, unable to help the resigned tone that he knows accompanies his words. “They’re not going to stop. I know that.” He holds Nate a little tighter. “I just need to be able to deal with it. I think this little guy helps. Grounds me, you know?”

Laura kisses him on the cheek, and then brushes a strand of hair from his forehead. “Come back to bed,” she says, nodding towards Nate. “We’ll let him sleep with us tonight.”

“This is not sleep training,” Clint says with a sigh. Laura shrugs.

“Neither was Natasha showing up in the middle of the night and then leaving our room before the kids could find out.”

“Rude, Laura.”

“Fine. Maybe I am getting soft after three kids. Or lazy. I’m allowed. And he’s big enough that he won’t fall off the bed without someone knowing.” She walks back to the room and opens the door, letting Clint crawl onto the covers first before wedging Nathaniel between them.

Natasha stirs, and then groans. “There’s a baby in my bed that’s not you.”

“It’s _your_ baby,” Clint reminds her as Nate squirms against Clint’s arm. Laura kisses Nate’s cheek and puts an arm around his small body, bringing him close.

Clint thinks for awhile before he speaks again. “I read Wanda’s letter.”

“And?” Natasha’s voice is muffled by thick fabric, where her cheek is pressed into the pillow.

“She told me where Pietro was buried. Sent a ring for you.”

Laura’s brow creases as she stares down at Nate. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Clint admits quietly. “She never told me. I never asked. We took the body back with us and then I came right home. I knew from Natasha she had gone off to take him somewhere but I wasn’t around, and...anyway, it’s in a Jewish cemetery in upstate New York.”

“Family trip,” Natasha deadpans, but Clint hears the softness in her voice. “She’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint says as Nate wiggles against him. “She is.” He tries not to think about Wanda’s words, the ones that said she didn’t know when she’d come back. He knows he can’t blame her, and that if he had a choice, he’d force her to stay away -- even though he knew they were, for the most part, safe.

“What?” Laura asks after a long moment.

Clint sighs. “She also said...she doesn’t want us to hide things from the kids,” he continues slowly. “She wants us to tell them what happened to her. So they’re not scared to be different.”

Laura smiles and her eyes water. “You really know how to pick the people you adopt into your life. I don’t know how you do it. But you do.”

“He thinks he’s charming,” Natasha mutters, and Laura stifles a laugh.

“I'll back you up on that."

"Tequila sunrises," Clint says, leaning over to kiss Laura. She kisses him back, her lips soft against his skin.

"Let me know if you can’t fall back asleep,” she says, stroking Nate’s cheek. “I think I have some extra mini bottles in the closet.”

“Noted.” Clint closes his eyes. “Have you ever thought about how all these serious conversations only happen when we’re in bed or drinking?”

“That’s what happens when you have three kids, a baby, and you plan your life around sports and birthday parties,” Laura responds pointedly.

“I like the drunk part,” Natasha mumbles, and Laura hums quietly under her breath.

“I like having _you_ in my bed.”

“Even after all these years?”

Clint is pretty sure Natasha’s fallen back asleep; he can tell by the lapse of time between her words. But he hears her sigh contently and he can’t help but smile at her response. Maybe they'd all be okay after all.

“Even then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PENULTIMATE CHAPTER FOR REAL. Sorry for the delay in update, this was part "I don't want to end this so I'm gonna write as slowly as possible because I'm selfish" and part "I got a new job that takes up all my writing time" and part "I had other fics I wanted to finish/work on to get them out of the way."
> 
> Thank you to all of you for reading so far!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My last chapters are always so long. I'd apologize, but I like making you cry.

Having a dog is exactly the type of stress Laura wants and doesn’t want at the same time. She spends a lot of time at the pet store, picking out dog food and leashes and toys that Lila insists the dog _has_ to have. On one hand, it gives her something to focus on and her children seem to be more receptive to listening than usual, thanks to an attempt to be on their best behavior. On the other hand, it takes Laura awhile to get used to having something else in the house who wakes up at five in the morning and goes to the bathroom wherever he wants (without the aid of a diaper).

Mostly, Laura tries to get behind the fact that Clint’s adopted a pet without her permission, and even agrees that it _is_ cute when the dog nuzzles Nate’s tiny face to wake him up from his nap, or when Clint is idly tossing a tennis ball around on the lawn, the picture of domesticity. She does, however, lose it when she walks downstairs on Saturday morning to start breakfast and finds a large puddle on the floor near the kitchen table. She stares in disgust, then turns around and walks to the drawer where Clint keeps all his work rags and spare tools. She grabs a faded purple towel and starts cleaning up the mess; when she straightens up, she sees that the dog has peed again -- this time near the sink. Combined with the fact she’d already tripped over the baby gate coming downstairs, it’s the last straw.

“ _I swear to god_ ,” Laura snaps, flinging the sodden rag across the floor. The dog’s ears perk up as his eyes catch a glimpse of something flying, and he takes off across the floor, barking excitedly and running out of the room.

“Mommy, are you angry about the doggie?”

Laura looks up in surprise and turns around. Lila is standing behind her, holding her stuffed wolf in one hand.

“I guess I am,” she admits, feeling a little foolish for her outburst. “But only a little bit.”

“Oh.” Lila scrunches up her nose and then tilts her head. “Why don’t you use words like you say to me?”

Laura laughs and walks forward, kissing the top of her head. She immediately feels the anger and frustration bleed out of her as she kneels down and strokes Lila’s cheek. “You’re absolutely right,” she agrees. “I should have used my words instead of yelling. You’re very smart, you know that?”

“I know, mommy.” Lila leans over and kisses her on the cheek, and Laura grabs her around the waist, snuggling her contently.

“Mommy, is daddy going back to work?”

Laura pulls back and looks at her daughter carefully. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “Maybe. Why?”

“Um, cause daddy got hurt last time he went to work,” Lila answers. “Cause, um, he likes his friend Wanda more than me.”

Laura blinks rapidly, trying to hide her surprise. “Oh, Lila...Lila baby, you know that’s not true.”

“But he went away and left,” Lila continues. “What if that happens again?”

Laura takes a deep breath and lets it out in measured beats. “Sweetheart, remember what daddy tells you every night before you go to bed, after you finish reading?”

“That I’m the most special specialest that ever lived, ever,” Lila recites methodically.

“Yes.” Laura dabs at her nose. “And daddy is always going to be there for his special little girl, right?”

Lila nods. “‘Cept when he’s ‘vengering with Auntie Nat.”

“Ten bucks you don’t know what ‘avengering’ means,” Laura mutters to herself, before raising her voice. “Wanda is a friend, like Auntie Nat is. You know daddy has a lot of friends, right? They come to the house sometimes?”

Lila nods and sticks her thumb in her mouth. Laura pushes hair out of her eyes.

“Come on,” she says, leaning down to pick up her daughter. “You want your favorite orange water?”

Lila perks up and Laura heads to the fridge, grabbing a large jug of freshly squeezed orange juice. She pours some into a plastic sippy cup, and Lila walks out of the room once Laura puts her down.

Laura takes a moment to settle her mind from the conversation. Once she does, she snaps back into responsibility mode the way she's been conditioned to doing for years, picks up the wet rag from the floor, and throws it in the trash. She puts on rubber gloves and grabs a paper towel, mopping up the additional accident before swiffering the floor and starting waffles. Normally, she would let Clint take care of breakfast -- their usual routine -- but he’d been so out of it when he woke up to take care of Nate that she’d taken pity on him.

Half an hour after Laura has started to pour batter into the waffle maker, when the sun has warmed to the same golden-brown color as her lukewarm hazelnut coffee, Cooper comes shuffling downstairs with a yawn and a messy mop of hair.

“Can I walk the dog?”

“Chores first,” Laura says after kissing him good morning, pointing to the door. “Then the dog.”

Cooper grumbles something Laura can’t understand and she can’t help but smile at the way his eyes narrow, at the way his dark hair falls over his still-maturing face; her son was almost an actual teenager but he still looked like he was nine, and Laura sees it every single day.

With Cooper outside, Lila upstairs, and the dog peacefully dozing in the middle of the living room, Laura finally feels like she can enjoy the morning the way she’s used to enjoying it. She even finds herself humming the newest pop radio songs as she makes more coffee, opening the windows to air out the house, even though it’s a colder day than usual. Somehow, the clean, cool wind makes her feel alive.

“Mommy, can I have a waffle?”

Laura turns around to see Lila standing patiently, half of her hair braided.

“I’m still cooking, Lila baby. Can you wait?”

Lila gives her a patented Natasha look, and Laura sighs. “Fine,” she relents, taking the smallest waffle from the pile and handing it to her. Lila heads back upstairs, and Laura starts setting the table.

“You’re in a good mood,” she remarks when Clint finally enters the kitchen. He practically waltzes through the archway with the dog at his heels, and snatches a waffle off the large plate with a flourish, before Laura can yell.

“Second, by the way.” Natasha walks in behind him, holding a squirming Nate who is dressed for the day in a pastel onesie that reads _Two Mommys One Daddy And Me._ “Lila brought him one while I was getting dressed.”

“He’s going to already have four more,” Laura complains with an eye roll as she watches Natasha settle Nathaniel in his high chair. Natasha snorts out a laugh.

“That’s the Clint Barton I know.”

Laura smiles and walks back to the sink to wash the cooking supplies. “And you’re just the Nat I know.”

“Hmmm?” Natasha's suddenly next to her, leaning into her space. “What did you mean just now, when you said _I’m just the Nat you know_?”

“Oh.” Laura scrubs at the mixing bowl, because she hadn’t been thinking when she’d spoken. “I just meant that I know sometimes, you still feel like you have to be a lot of things to a lot of people. Or maybe you’re not sure who you’re supposed to be. Clint used to talk about how you worried sometimes, whether or not you should open yourself up to other people, and I know you worried about that when you were away. But...to me, in this house, and always...you’re just Nat.” Laura drops the sponge in the sink as the water continues to run, turning chilly. “You’re just...you.”

“You’re saying I belong to you?” Natasha asks, dropping her voice dangerously. Laura suddenly wonders if she’s said something wrong, despite the fact that she knows Natasha won’t hurt her, despite the fact that she knows they’ve reached a comfortable place in their relationship.

“Yes,” Laura says after a moment. Natasha keeps staring, one of those patented assassin looks that she likes to give Clint when he challenges her or when they need to talk without using words.

“Good.” She inclines her head towards the baby, who is wiggling in his seat as Clint pours a handful of Cheerios onto his tray. “So maybe one day we can get the guts to have him wear this out in public.”

“I don’t know why we don’t,” Laura admits with a grimace. “Everyone at the school already knows. We should just have a town announcement or something.”

“Nah, admit it. You like keeping me kind of secret.”

“Says the girl who wants to fuck with our team about who we kiss in this house,” Clint interjects as Laura shoots him a dirty look. His face drops when he realizes what he’s said. “Oops.”

“I missed being able to count on you to buy coffee,” Laura remarks fondly as she watches Clint pull out his phone and grudgingly make a note.

“It was a stupid rule, to start that chart,” he complains as he reaches for his mug.

“No,” Laura responds. “We started that chart because _someone_ started saying bad words at five years old, and we needed to put ourselves in check.”

“That someone was me!” Lila announces proudly as she enters the kitchen, almost spilling her juice while she climbs onto her chair.

“Not something to be proud of,” Laura mutters out of the side of her mouth. “Lila, where’s your brother?”

“Coop’s walkin’ the doggie!”

“Don’t worry,” Clint assures Laura off of her look. “I gave him instructions. He’s not supposed to go out of sight of the house.”

“And you think he’s going to _listen_?” Laura asks pointedly. As if in response to her question, the front door slams and barking starts, along with Cooper’s heavy thumps. Clint grins smugly.

“See? Not totally rebellious. Yet.”

“ _Yet_.” Laura rolls her eyes as Cooper walks into the kitchen, jumping onto the chair.

“Coop!”

“Puppy, up!” he commands, ignoring his mom. The dog barks again and then jumps, his paws landing on Cooper’s legs, leaving muddy footprints on the tile and on Cooper’s jeans.

“I’m done,” Laura decides. “Clint, take care of breakfast, please. I need more coffee.”

She walks to the cupboard and searches for the largest mug she can find, reaching all the way into the back until her fingers grasp the handle of the oversized bubblegum colored Planned Parenthood mug her mom had given her a few months ago. As she takes the carafe and dumps the remainder of the coffee into the mug, she lets the voices behind her mesh with the sound of chairs being pulled out, legs scraping loudly against the floor Clint hasn’t bothered to re-tile.

“Hey, so.” Clint’s voice is loud over the din of Nate’s whining, which Natasha is trying to help. “You think of a name for the dog yet?”

Laura turns around as Cooper scrunches up his face and rubs the dog’s head. “I dunno. Maybe Lucky.”

“Lucky, huh?” Clint frowns. “What made you think of that?”

Cooper looks embarrassed, his eyes darting towards his plate. “Uh. I heard you talking to mom once about how maybe it’d be good to have a pet if you went away again. And...I dunno. Last time we went away, it was kinda scary. I thought maybe it should be a name that brings good stuff, just in case.”

“I think that’s perfect,” Clint agrees. “You like that name, Lila baby?”

Lila sticks a forkful of waffles into her mouth and nods. Clint looks down at the dog, and then back at Cooper.

“You’re gonna be good to Lucky? Feed him and take care of him?”

Cooper nods vigorously. “I swear I will. I promise. I’ll even quit school and soccer.”

“Oh, no.” Clint shakes his head and raises his voice. “ _No one_ in this household is quitting school before they’re 30.”

Cooper makes a face. “I thought doing anything before 30 was the dating rule.”

“It’s the dating rule _and_ the school rule,” Clint announces. “And if I can go away and work and still do stuff around the house, you can take care of a dog and still do your math problems.”

“Worth a try,” Cooper mutters. Clint stifles a laugh.

“Can’t be upset we didn’t raise someone who loved school as much as your mom,” he says, ruffling his overgrown hair. Cooper jerks away, but he’s smirking.

“Mom says she didn’t even _like_ school that much til she met you.”

“You’re going into the closet in five minutes if you don’t stop,” Laura warns, finally speaking up. She pushes away from the counter, and Natasha looks up as Nate bites down on her finger.

“Really, Laura? The closet? Have I taught you _nothing_ about how to successfully punish your children?”

“Auntie Nat says I can get out of punishing if I learn to be like she does,” Lila pipes up, and Clint snorts.

“You’re gonna be like her before you can drive, at this rate.”

The kitchen is suddenly loud again, filled with yelling that echoes through the walls of the farm, the normally quaint and quiet house turning to chaos, coupled with Natasha trying to calm down Nate and the dog barking excitedly as Clint tries to feed him some scraps of waffle. They’d had breakfasts together since Clint had come home from Wakanda, but this was different, and it _felt_ different. Clint wasn’t moping about his hearing, and Natasha wasn’t running off for work, and Cooper wasn’t upset about something he couldn’t control. The air is fresh and clean and not heavy with any tension, the warm sun is streaming through the kitchen windows, and for the first time, Laura feels like the house is as normal as it’s always been -- no jail time and no government secrets, just a family that’s spending time together and a welcome reminder of what it feels like to be loved. The realization makes her smile, and when she catches Natasha looking at her across the table, she knows she’s not the only one who feels that way.

After breakfast, Clint wanders upstairs with Nate while Natasha cleans up. Cooper and Lila find their weekend relaxation in reading and arts and crafts, and Laura finds time to finally use the bathroom.

“You need a haircut,” is the first thing Laura says when Clint walks in, closing the door carefully behind him. “You look like you’re growing a mullet. It’s terrible.”

“It’s not so bad,” Clint protests, and Laura gives him a look. She knows he's been consciously avoiding going into town for his usual cut, because of his ears.

"Yes, it is."

"Ugh." Clint leans closer to the mirror and makes a face at his reflection. "Well, maybe I'll get Nat to do one of those side shaves so I can have a mohawk or something."

"Please don't," Laura says, splashing water on her face and massaging her cheeks with face wash.

"What, you don't think I'd look sexy as a superhero rocker? It could be my alter-ego for when I need to hide from Ross."

Laura sighs. "I thought I’d take Natasha and the kids with me to do some errands,” she says, instead of egging him on. “Let you stay here and catch up around the house without noise.”

Clint adjusts the baby in his arms with ease. “Is this your covert way of telling me to get off my ass and start working on everything I was doing before I retired?”

“No,” Laura says in exasperation. “This is my covert way of telling you that you should have some time alone because I’m nice enough to take three kids out of your way. Or have you forgotten what it feels like to be a single parent? Because I’ve had a lot of experience with that lately.”

“Wow, thanks for that,” Clint returns sarcastically. He lowers his head so that he’s eye-level with his son. “Mommy’s clearly been taking lessons from Auntie Nat. Don’t listen to Auntie Nat when you get older, okay? I know she seems really nice, but she’s going to make you interrogate that girl on the playground if you let her."

Laura's lips turn up as she wipes her face clean. “So was I hearing things during breakfast, or did Coop finally figure out a name for the dog?”

Clint nods and watches her reach for some lotion. “Yeah. He said he wanted to name him Lucky.”

“That’s...normal,” Laura decides as she starts rubbing apple-scented body butter over her arms.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing. But, uh. I guess he’s thinking of him as good luck. You know, if I go away again.” He looks at Nate, who grins and drools. “We got really good kids, didn’t we?”

Laura washes her hands again and then turns around, eyeing him. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“The dog?” Clint looks at the closed door and then back at Laura. “I’m gonna train him, I swear. I mean, he’s already pretty trained, but I’m gonna take him to one of those classes so you don’t have to worry about him pooping on the floor like Lila did when she was a baby.”

“No, not the dog.” Laura takes Nate from his arms and the baby reaches eagerly for his mom. “This morning, Lila asked me if you were going back to work.”

Clint swallows and reaches across her for his toothbrush. “Did you tell her what we always say when we don’t know what’s going on with work?”

“I tried,” Laura replies. “And then she said you liked Wanda more than her, and that’s why you went away and got hurt.”

Clint freezes in the middle of squeezing the bottle of Crest. “Shit,” he mutters, dropping the toothbrush and the tube in the sink. He backs against the wall, rubbing his chin. “She didn’t have this problem with Nat.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Laura says pointedly. “She grew up with her. Natasha was around when she was born, and we made her a second mother, even when she wasn’t here all the time.”

Clint cringes. “I know. But I never thought --”

“I know you didn’t choose Wanda over us intentionally,” Laura breaks in. “I don’t even think Lila really thinks that, Clint. But I do think with everything that happened...we’re all going to be dealing with the consequences for awhile, and we have to be aware of the things that are going to come up. Like this. And Cooper’s therapy.”

Clint closes his eyes. “All I ever wanted was for my kids to be normal, you know? We were never gonna be normal with my job, and with Nat, but I thought, hey, we could try...we could be a family and be kind of normal and even before all of this, we were so close to getting there.”

Laura watches as a single frustrated tear falls from his lashes. She walks forward and lets Nate reach out, his small fingers petting the side of Clint's face.

“Da-da-da!” Nate gurgles, and Clint opens his eyes with a small smile.

“If I wasn’t three kids in and knew this whole parenting thing already, I’d totally claim he just said ‘dad’ as his first word.”

“Good thing baby talk exists and we both know that it's way too early for real words,” Laura agrees, letting Nate snuggle into Clint. “Don’t forget, though. Coop’s first word was door, and you thought _that_ was dad, too.”

“I just wanted the first word,” Clint grumbles. Laura kisses him on the cheek.

“Don’t worry about Lila.”

“I _am_ worried.” He gestures towards the door. “She’s the one person who I thought would get out of this whole mess okay.”

“Then talk to her.” Laura’s voice is no-nonsense and sharp, the tone she uses when she wants to get her point across without snapping at him. “She may be advanced for her age in a lot of ways, but she’s still only five, Clint. And she’s your daughter. If anything, she just needs to be reassured, the same way you reassure her after nightmares.”

Clint tickles Nate under the chin with his pointer finger. “I know we don’t make promises,” he says finally. “But can you just promise me we’ll get there? Like we did with Nat?”

Laura smiles and kisses Nate’s head. “We’ll get there,” she promises. “But if we don’t, that’s okay, too. Our family will be _our_ family, Clint. Besides, we’ve always been messy, right?”

Clint looks down at the baby, and then looks back at Laura.

“Right.”

 

***

 

Clint asks Lila to stay home with him so they can watch the dog together. Laura gives him a knowing look before she leaves, and Clint knows that she’ll probably spill to Natasha why he was spending time with his daughter instead of letting her come along to run errands. He’d long learned that for as much as the three of them kept their own secrets, Laura and Natasha were as bad as anyone when it came to talking about things in this relationship.

Nonetheless, Clint makes another pot of coffee and takes advantage of a quiet house and a sleeping dog to pull out the sketches he’d been doing before he left to get Wanda -- the pencil-thin markings for Cooper’s new room, the massive study renovation, and a new workspace for Laura.

“What are you doing, daddy?”

“Working,” Clint replies, pushing his glasses up his nose as he raises his head. “You wanna work with me?”

Lila nods and drags a chair next to him, and Clint winces as it scrapes against the floor. She settles a little clumsily and plunks a handful of crayons down on the kitchen table, leaning on her elbows as she drags a piece of paper towards her.

“Is that Coop’s room?”

“Yep.” Clint sticks his tongue inside his cheek as he draws. “You gonna be sad to lose your brother when he moves into his own room?”

“A little,” Lila admits. “Even though he’s snoring all the time.”

“Gets that from me,” Clint apologizes. “Hey, once your baby brother is old enough, you’ll have another person to play with and read to.”

Lila nods and goes back to her drawing, small fingers gripping a yellow crayon in firm concentration. Clint waits until they’ve reached a comfortable silence before he puts down his pencil and looks over.

“Mommy said you asked her if I was going back to work.”

Lila nods again but doesn’t look up. Clint waits to see if she will before continuing.

“Do you want me to go back to work?”

She shakes her head, still silent.

“Is this about me and Wanda?”

Lila does finally look up at that, her face a neutral stare. Clint sighs, taking off his glasses. He reaches out to hug his daughter, who stands up on the chair and leans forward into his arms.

“Lila baby, I love you. You know that.”

“If you love me, then _why_ do you go away?”

Clint struggles to think of an answer that won’t make him feel like a terrible father. The truth is, as much as he was okay with traveling, the worst he’d ever felt about being away from home were during the times that Cooper and Lila were babies. Natasha had helped fill the hole that was always empty when he was at SHIELD, even before he knew he was in love with her, but that emptiness had never really gone away as much as he had gotten to a place where he was able to manage it better.

“You know why. You tell mommy and Auntie Nat you know why all the time. I protect people, remember?” He strokes her hair. “Are you worried that because I’m working with Wanda and not Natasha, I’m going to get hurt?”

“Yes,” Lila says, her voice muffled against his worn flannel. Clint’s throat tightens, and he forces himself to swallow so that his voice doesn’t break.

“Listen to me, baby girl. I will never stop loving you, or your brothers, or your mom, or Auntie Nat. But I’ll also never stop protecting you. And to protect you, sometimes I need to go away and make sure that scary things don’t happen to the people I love. And sometimes, I might not be able to do that without getting hurt. But everything I do is because I love you, and I need you to know that. I need you to understand that, and it has nothing to do with who I’m working with. Okay?”

For a moment, he’s not sure how Lila will respond. He knows his daughter can take logic and pragmatic explanations with little issue; she’d always been that way, born with more maturity than most people her age. But she’d also never been so upset with his traveling and work before now.

“Okay, daddycoo.”

Clint blinks in surprise at the name, and his heart swells until he thinks it might burst. “I love you so much, you know that?”

“I love you more,” Lila says, lifting her head.

“Nope, I love you more than that. Hey, you wanna help me figure out what we should put in mommy’s new room?” He pulls her more securely into his lap and lets her point out the spots in his drawing that she recognizes, grabbing his glasses and putting them back on so that he doesn’t have to squint as much.

Lila gets bored of drawing after another hour, so Clint takes a break from working to help her into her coat and boots so she can play outside. He starts to draw again when he sits back down, but the house is suddenly too quiet, even with the dog now awake and pacing back and forth. He eventually throws his own coat over his faded  _Menace Camp_ sweatshirt -- a belated father's day gift from Cooper and a thank you present for driving him to and from soccer camp each day -- and coerces Lucky to go outside by enticing him with a gross tennis ball. When Laura returns, he hears her before she even reaches the house, thanks to the fact Nate is screaming his head off.

“What happened to him?” Clint asks as Laura walks up the porch stairs, bouncing the crying baby on her hip. He searches his wife’s face; there’s slight annoyance but more guilt, so he figures Nate isn't just throwing a tantrum for no reason.

“We took him to the car wash,” Laura explains over more wails. “I thought he’d be okay with it, but apparently I was wrong.”

“Apparently,” Clint agrees as Nate’s face scrunches into a miserable picture. “Oh, oh, oh...hey, come here, buddy. Come on. It’s alright, you’re not scared anymore.” He reaches into his pocket for a tissue to wipe the snot and tears off his son’s face and then holds out his arms. “Where’s Nat?”

“She decided she couldn’t deal and went back to being an assassin,” Laura says as she passes the baby over. “Kidding. She’s in the barn with Cooper.”

Clint nods, for once not feeling entirely worried about that. Nate quiets for a split second, and then starts to cry again. Laura sighs, watching Lila ride her bike in circles. Her pink helmet obscures most of her hair.

“Did you talk to Lila?”

“Yeah,” Clint says with a nod. “Uh, when Lila was three, she was still calling me daddycoo.”

“I know,” Laura says with a fond smile. “Because she was nicknaming you from her baby days and we never bothered to stop her.”

“Until today, I hadn’t heard it since.” He looks down at Nate and bounces him more. “Just made me realize how much I’ve missed things being normal, I guess. Aw, come on, buddy, I’m trying here. You gotta stop crying before you make daddy cry.”

“As much as his crying gets to me, I do like to see you lose your manly Avengerness every now and then,” Laura teases as Lucky barks, running up the lawn. The moment Nate sees the dog, he stops wailing.

“Whaddya know,” Clint marvels, hiding a smile. “Guess you can’t yell at me after all.”

“Oh, I can yell at you plenty,” Laura assures him as Lucky wags his tail. She leans down to pet the dog. “The day is still young. But I’ll take him upstairs and change him. I think we might be due for a nap.”

“You _think_?”

“Three kids,” Laura reminds him as she takes the baby from his arms and heads inside. Clint watches Lila for a few moments longer and once he’s satisfied she’s not going to literally ride off into the sunset, he walks down to the barn. When he pushes open the door, he’s surprised to see Natasha and Cooper leaning over the large standing bullseye.

“Gossiping about dad behind his back?” Clint asks. Cooper’s eyebrows shoot up when he notices his father and he immediately looks at Natasha, as if she’s supposed to explain things.

“Coop, it’s fine,” Clint continues, taken aback that his son would be so worried about finding him like this. Laura, he could understand. But then again, Laura tended to have stronger opinions than Clint did when it came to Cooper and weaponry. “You know we’ve been working on your bow.”

“I know,” Cooper says, glancing at Natasha. “It’s just, uh. I’ve never seen you shoot.”

“Oh.” Clint furrows his brow. “You know I don’t practice around the house and stuff. That’s why I go to work.”

Cooper nods. “My therapist person said maybe if I saw what you do it would help me understand things,” he all but mumbles. Natasha stays silent, and Clint glances at her.

“Is that why you were in here? You were gonna talk to Nat about wanting to see me shoot?”

Cooper bites down on his lip. “I know you haven’t wanted to do it cause of your ears, and I didn’t wanna make you mad again.”

Clint sucks in a breath, shivering as the cold air passes between his teeth. It hisses in his ears, echoing loudly in the silence of the barn, and he swallows hard.

“You wanna see me shoot?”

“If you...if you want.”

Clint nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll show you how I shoot. But not right now.”

“Okay,” Cooper replies, sounding disappointed. “But --”

“I just need a little bit of time for this,” Clint continues, keeping his voice level. “I know you understand that. Okay?”

Cooper’s mouth lifts in a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks, dad.”

There’s a softness in his son’s voice that Clint thinks he hasn’t heard in awhile. Behind Cooper, Natasha’s face mirrors what he knows is his softened expression.

“Anytime, kiddo.”

 

***

 

“Busy?” Clint asks when he walks into the kitchen after he’s showered. Laura’s standing at the counter in flowered pajama pants, an array of meats spread out before her.

“Packing lunch,” Laura says, spreading tuna fish on a piece of bread. “Why?”

Clint runs a hand through freshly washed hair, reminding himself he really _does_ need to cut it soon. “Cooper wants to see me shoot.”

Laura’s hands stop moving, and she finishes putting the sandwich together in perfectly measured movements.

“He’s wanted that for awhile.”

“I know,” Clint agrees, because giving Cooper an old bow to work on wasn’t only due to his interest in Clint's weapons. “But this is the first time he’s specifically asked. He said his therapist recommended it.”

Laura’s shoulders tense at that, and she reaches for a knife. “What do you think?”

“I --” Clint stops, not prepared for Laura to throw the question back at him. “What do _I_ think?”

“Yes,” Laura says calmly. “You’re his father. You’re also currently handicapped, struggling with PTSD that you won’t admit to, and you haven’t used your bow since they captured you.”

“And?” Clint challenges, even though he knows everything she’s saying is not so much an attack as it is the truth.

“And, if you’re going to show him how to shoot, you also need to show him you’re still his dad. The dad who doesn’t get scared and who can handle his fears.”

Clint shoves his hands in his pockets as Laura finishes making another sandwich. “I know.”

“Good.” Laura turns around, and Clint notices her face is tired. “Clint, I need to know you’re with me. I need to you and Natasha with me. I told you, I can’t….”

“I know,” Clint repeats, opening his arms. Laura drops the tomato she’s just picked up and leans into him, sighing against his shirt. “I know, Laur. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere, okay? Mentally or otherwise.”

Laura shakes her head against him. “You really do need a haircut,” she mumbles into his shirt and Clint laughs, kissing her head. The band of his wedding ring catches in the overhead light, and he realizes he’s worn it for so long being home that he’ll most certainly have a dent around his finger if he takes it off now.

On Monday morning, Clint’s woken up at five by the dog jumping on his legs, as if he owns the bed. He’s still dead tired but gives in and throws on an old sweatshirt before forcing himself out the door, clipping Lucky’s purple leash to his new red collar. It’s a short walk -- just around the perimeter of the farm, enough so the dog can go to the bathroom and stretch his legs after being inside for the night -- but it allows Clint to savor the quietness. He relishes in the muted morning, birds waking up and starting to chatter in the trees, the wind picking up and softening as the sky attempts to lighten its palette, the smell of heavy smoke from somewhere in the distance; the last tendrils of a lingering night’s fire. A chilly breath of wind reminds him that even though the weather has waned and tried to stretch its milder arms, November is closer than it appears. It would be Halloween soon, which meant that Laura would be spending all her free time working on Lila's Princess Leia costume, and that Clint had to start doing some serious practicing on side buns. He remembers Lila asking about Natasha being home for Halloween, and suddenly, days at the lake and coffee and watching his children build sandcastles seem like a lifetime ago.

The walk is enjoyable, or at least as enjoyable as it can be for the fact that it’s far too early. Fortunately, Lucky returns to the house quietly enough that Clint can start getting breakfast ready with little issue, and by the time his children tear down the stairs, he’s already managed two cups of coffee.

Unfortunately, by that time, it’s also turned grey and misty and has started to rain.

“He smells funny,” Lila announces with a giggle when Lucky greets her by licking her face, his own version of good morning. “Ewww, doggie breath!”

“Probably should have a bath at some point,” Clint agrees, wondering if he can coerce Natasha or Laura into doing the deed. He suspects that won’t work very well, though. “Eat up, Lila baby. Nat and mommy are driving you to school today.”

“Why don’t _you_ drive me to school anymore?”

“Because I need to take care of your new friend,” Clint says, nudging the cereal bowl towards her. It’s not the best excuse, but at least it’s valid. “I’ll drive you to school tomorrow.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” Clint promises as a groan is emitted from behind him.

“It’s _raining_.”

Clint glances out the window to make sure his next words won’t be a lie, only slightly satisfied to see water dripping down the glass panes in dizzying, miserable stripes. “Yep. It is, kiddo. Good news is, you don’t have to be stuck in the house all day with me.”

“I gotta be stuck at school, and that’s even worse.” Cooper slumps down at the table and pours cereal with a sulky look. Lucky trots over and sniffs around him, then nuzzles his wet nose into his knee. Clint manages to catch a hint of a smile from Cooper before he walks out of the kitchen, where Natasha’s putting on rain boots that she’s borrowing from Laura.

“Coffee?”

Natasha looks up as Clint hands her a thermos, still steaming. She accepts it gratefully.

“I don’t know how you do this,” she says after she takes a long sip. “I’m seriously rethinking this whole domestic thing.”

“You wanna drive carpool, or you wanna fix the dishwasher?” Clint asks. Natasha fixes him with a look.

“Not what I meant, Barton.”

“Not what I meant, either, _Romanoff_.”

Natasha leans forward and kisses him. It’s a quick kiss, something almost chaste, but Clint tastes the coffee on her tongue and feels the softness of her lips. “Want me to bring you back something if Laura and I stop at the bakery?”

“Nah.” Clint shakes his head. “I’m good. Pick me up a paper, though? I feel like I’ve been out of the loop for the past few days.”

Natasha nods and squeezes his hand as Laura comes down the stairs holding Nate, a dark pink cap fitted snugly over her long brown hair.

“School,” she announces loudly once she hits the bottom step, her voice sharp and crisp as she hands the baby over to Clint. Cooper walks sullenly to the closet while Lila follows dutifully.

“I’m never not going to be amazed at that,” Clint marvels, watching his kids put on their raincoats. Laura grins.

“Good. That means you can’t leave me for Natasha.”

He huffs out a laugh, because years ago -- even as little as two years ago -- he knows Laura wouldn’t have been able to say something like that without Natasha getting upset, or without Clint worrying that things would be strange between them.

 _We really have come a long way_ , he thinks as he shifts Nate in his arms so he can lean down and hug his kids. Lila gives Nate her usual ten short kisses ("be good with daddy, Tasha-Nate," she adds) and the baby grabs a fistful of her overalls in delight.

When the house is quiet again, Lucky lays down on the floor by the stairs and Clint puts Nate in his playpen, adding some toys to keep him company. He turns on the television, leaving it playing in the background while he cleans up the kitchen. It’s become harder to keep up with the news quietly; he doesn’t like watching things when Cooper and Lila are around and he doesn’t want Laura or even Natasha to think he’s still knee-deep in worries. He is, but he’d rather not make those feelings clear.

The news drones in the background; reports of the weather and a fire in the next town over and a woman who was robbed at a store. Nothing about superheroes, though -- nothing about the Accords or the government or Ross, except for some boring interview that’s clearly a Fox News reporter trying to instigate controversy by asking a bunch of listeners if they think the Avengers should be outlawed. His eye roll at the program is interrupted by the doorbell ringing and he curiously treks through the living room, surprised to find Laura’s father on the porch, rainwater dripping off his black umbrella.

“Clint.”

“Bob.” He tries not to show his surprise at the seemingly random visit.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Clint gestures behind him and Bob walks inside, shaking out his umbrella and leaving it on the porch. “Uh, you want anything? Coffee? Tea? Brandy?”

“Coffee’s fine,” Bob says as he takes off his boots and stacks them neatly by the welcome mat. “It’s only ten, after all. How are you?”

“Uh.” Clint searches for words as he walks back into the kitchen. The coffeemaker had turned off hours ago and any caffeine left in the carafe has long gone cold, more sludge than liquid. He reaches for a new bag and dumps some more grounds into the filter. “Okay, I guess. Surviving.” He tries to keep his voice light on the last word, to make it more of a joke, but he senses Bob can see right through him. “Is everything okay with you?”

“Yes,” Bob says. He's picked up Nate and is bouncing him in his arms. “I just thought I’d drop by since I had an early appointment in town, and Elizabeth is out for the day. It’s been awhile since you’ve come around with the kids.”

“Yeah.” Clint starts the coffee maker. “Laura’s been taking care of a lot since I came home. Mostly, we’ve been trying to get back to normal here.”

Bob walks into the kitchen and sits down at the table, still holding Nathaniel. Clint clears his throat as the coffee starts to percolate.

"Hey, listen. Laura told us what you did. What you guys did, to keep us safe. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, but you know we can’t thank you enough.”

Bob nods. “It’s not a failsafe, unfortunately,” he says as Nate shoves a plastic block into his mouth, trying valiantly to find a teething cure. “But it certainly cuts down on the odds that someone will come find you.”

“Honestly, it's not any worse than the threat of danger we were used to before,” Clint admits as the strong smell of coffee starts to fill the room. “But you really didn’t know Ross?”

“No,” Bob answers. “I didn’t. I knew of him, like a lot of people did. I could’ve even served under him, probably, if I wanted to continue with my work. But something about him never sat right with me.”

“Wonder why,” Clint mutters under his breath. “I never wanted this, you know.”

“Clint.” Bob sounds exasperated and, strangely, sympathetic. “No one does. I joined up with the Air Force well before I met Laura’s mom. If I hadn’t, things might have been different.”

“Yeah.” Clint smiles briefly, because he’s pretty sure it’s not the same thing. But given the fact that he hasn’t had the smoothest relationship with Bob Foster over the years, he doesn’t feel like starting an argument.

“I was wondering if you were thinking about going back.”

“Uh.” Clint suddenly feels like he’s talking to Lila all over again. “Maybe.” He unconsciously rubs his ears. “We haven’t talked about it, really. There’s a lot of messy stuff, you know, all the news reports and things. And I really do want to stay here for Nathaniel.”

“Of course you do,” Bob says, and suddenly, his voice is back to that wary, measured tone that Clint knows all too well. Bob must see it in his features -- fuck, his poker face really is going, along with the rest of his body, or maybe he’s just too damn tired to care -- because he frowns, the lines around his mouth deepening and his peppered stubble bunching up around his cheeks.

“You know what I think about you, Clint?”

 _Oh yeah_ , Clint thinks sarcastically. Instead, he asks, “what?”

“That you’re the best father these kids could ask for.”

Clint’s shocked by Bob’s words, and masks his inability to respond by grabbing two fresh mugs from the drying rack and filling them with hot coffee. “Thanks,” he says finally, putting a mug down on the table. “That’s all I ever wanted, you know. This SHIELD stuff, the work -- I only did it in the first place because Laura told me to, all those years ago.”

“I know,” Bob responds. “And I know how my daughter works. She pushes people she cares about, because she knows they won’t push themselves. She did the same thing to me, when I wanted to stop working for awhile.”

Clint smiles. “Guess we have that in common,” he says as Nate giggles, trying to grab his grandfather’s coffee. “Also, guess we have a future coffee addict.”

Bob actually smiles at that. “You know, I had a job offer to teach over in Missouri some years ago, right before Cooper was born."

"I remember," Clint says, thinking back to Laura's fumbled "I want a baby" declaration in the middle of Home Depot, worried her dad would have to move before she was ready to start trying.

"I knew if I took it, Laura really would be okay," Bob continues. "She's strong and confident and she had you to take care of her. I would have even let Elizabeth stay here if she needed to. But daughters need their fathers, and knowing I would be there to help her through her first child was what made me turn the offer down. I wanted to put her first."

Clint nods, unsure of what to say.

"Do me a favor, Clint. The world is only going to get more dangerous. And I don’t want to see you lose this happiness, or this life that you’ve worked so hard for. I know what it feels like to have that threatened, and now, so you do. So whatever decision you make in the future...don’t do it for yourself. Or even for Laura or Natasha. Do it for your kids.”

As if on cue, Nate laughs out loud, a grin stretching across his tiny face. Clint’s heart beats faster as he blinks back tears, taking a sip of coffee. He reaches out and lets his son wrap small fingers around his hand.

“Thanks, Bob. I’ll try.”

 

***

 

“Your dad came to visit,” Clint says conversationally later that day, when Cooper and Lila are doing their homework. Natasha looks up at the same time as Laura, who instantly closes the book she’s been reading, and lifts her head from where it’s been pillowed onto Natasha’s thigh.

“Why?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Clint admits with a shrug. “Surprised the shit out of me, too. He said he hadn’t seen me in awhile, but then he gave me advice. Like, nice advice. He even asked how I was doing. I’m telling you Laur, I don’t know if it's the whole jail thing or what, but it was _strange_.”

Laura gives him a look. “Whatever you think of dad, Clint, he _does_ like you. I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah -- fifteen years of that argument,” Clint says, flopping down on the bed. “You think I’m ever gonna forget that first meeting after graduation, when he basically told me I wasn’t good enough for you?”

Natasha watches Clint take his aids out. She’s about to open her mouth to admonish him that being deaf doesn't mean he gets to opt out of arguments, when a too-polite knock on the door interrupts them.

“I need daddy!” Lila announces loudly from the other side. Natasha gets up and opens the door, and Lila runs in and jumps on the bed.

“Daddy! I need to tell you a big thing!” Her hands wave wildly, a failed attempt at sign language, and Clint grunts as Lila lands on top of him.

“Ow, Lila -- come on, let daddy put his ears in.”

“Daddy’s putting his ears in!” Lila giggles and pretends to put her own hearing aids in. When Clint’s adjusted his aids well enough, he picks her up.

“Alright. Now, what did you want to tell me?”

"It's really 'portant!" Lila announces. She looks down at her feet. “Um. There’s a mail person at the door and he says he has a thingy for you.”

Clint frowns at her words, all subtle reactions indicative of years of parenting, but Natasha can tell he’s trying to keep his face neutral. She looks Laura, who has absolutely no expression in her face whatsoever.

"Well, let's go see the important mail person," Clint says calmly, getting up off the bed, still holding Lila. Natasha follows, catching Laura's eye as they move down the stairs. Natasha can tell what she’s thinking as she moves.

 _It’s all of us or none of us_. If there really was someone at the house who wanted to hurt them and they were already together, there was no sense in hiding. Especially if someone had already seen Lila.

She doesn’t realize until she gets in view of the door how relieved she is to see that Lila had been right, and that there is a regular postman waiting patiently. It’s even one she recognizes, because she’s been around enough to know who runs the farm’s regular route. Still, Natasha refuses to let her guard down, especially once she notices he’s holding out a FedEx envelope with a tired, forced smile.

“Evenin’, Bartons. Sorry to drop in on you like this with the weather and all -- special delivery. Hi, Lila.”

“Hi, Mr. Postman!” Lila waves cheerily and Natasha wishes she could bottle some of that innocence and return to the days when she didn’t think danger was lurking behind every dark corner.

“No worries, Charles.” Clint's face is friendly, an easy smile taking shape, but Natasha sees right through it. “Thanks for stopping by.” He puts Lila down and then reaches for the envelope, scrawling his name across a handheld device. “Get yourself home before the weather gets bad again.”

Charles shrugs, waving his hand around at the rain that’s almost started to taper off. “Not so bad at this hour. At least it’s better than snow. Have a good night, you all.”

Clint keeps his smile intact until the door is closed, and then lets it drop. Lila, oblivious to anything being potentially wrong, shrugs and returns upstairs.

“Clint?” Laura’s voice is low, and Clint shakes his head.

“No return address.”

“Do you think...I mean, dad told us everything. We’re safe, right?”

 _Please tell me we’re safe_ , is what Natasha hears underneath her question, and she feels entirely terrible she can’t answer that. At least after Hydra, she could say with relative certainty that no one was coming after the farm, because as far as SHIELD was concerned, Clint was a bachelor who lived in Brooklyn. She had enough proof of that from files, and from Fury.

“I don’t know,” Natasha admits, realizing that she might not be able to be confident about Laura's question ever again. She silently curses Ross and Tony and Steve and Wakanda. The road to recovery was going to be longer than she thought, for all of them.

“I’ll open it,” Clint says finally. “We should do it while the kids are occupied, otherwise we might not get to do it until tonight.”

Laura nods and grips Natasha’s hand. Natasha, for her part, lets her eyes dart around the room. Clint’s bow was in the basement, but there was a loaded gun still in the closet upstairs, and they could make a quick getaway if they needed to -- she’d make sure of it. As Laura squeezes the life out of Natasha’s fingers, Clint opens the envelope to reveal a stack of papers. He takes them out and looks through them, his face morphing into a puzzled frown. When Clint finally looks up, he has an odd expression on his face that Natasha can only half read.

“We’re cleared.”

“What?” Laura still hasn’t let go of Natasha’s hand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, uh.” He gestures to the papers, his face still stuck in that strange look. “We’re cleared, I guess. Tony, uh...he cleared our names.”

Laura swallows, and Natasha can see her face losing color. She wears an expression that’s still fearful, a look Natasha hasn’t seen in a long time, maybe not since Natasha had actually walked out on the family so many years ago. She doesn’t blame her. She almost doesn’t believe it herself. Not only does it seem far too easy after everything they’ve gone through, but she can’t imagine Ross just giving up on hunting people he had it out for. Natasha shivers, remembering how she had felt being in his office. She had only spent ten minutes with the man, but it was enough interaction to last her a lifetime, and she had been grateful when she found out Clint had been spared interacting with him while in the Raft.

“How?” Laura’s voice is shaky, and Natasha rubs her thumb over her skin in comforting circles.

“Dunno.” Clint hands the papers over in a daze and Natasha takes them from him. “It just says that we’re no longer wanted by the authorities, by authorization of Tony Stark and the federal government. But it also says --”

“The Avengers and anyone with enhanced powers no longer are allowed to operate openly as they have been doing, under penalty of strict sentencing,” Natasha finishes quietly. Laura looks at Natasha, and then back at Clint.

“So there’s...there’s no more Avengers?”

“I think…” Natasha can tell Clint is struggling to figure out what to say while trying to wrap his mind around what he’s read. “We’ll always exist as Avengers, I guess. But as for going out on missions and being authorized to do stuff...that’s not going to be as much of a thing anymore.”

“Wanda?”

“I don’t know,” Clint repeats, gesturing to the papers. “I don’t think it says anything about Wanda.”

Natasha looks down and leafs through the stack, and realizes he’s right. The papers have been carefully worded, noting that “those apprehended following the altercation at Leipzig/Halle Airport are no longer wanted criminals by the authorities,” but it doesn’t list specific names. _Smart_ , Natasha thinks, feeling a little deflated. Technically, they weren't being hunted, but it also meant that they weren’t out of the woods, especially if they decided to forgo orders again. There was no promise that if someone saw Wanda using her powers, they wouldn't call her in as dangerous and think she was "avenging."

But as long as Clint stayed here -- as long as he wanted to retire again, or even if he wanted to go help her or visit her -- they were free of anyone hopefully coming by the farm and looking them up, or following them.

"Goddammit," Laura mutters, breaking the silence. Natasha looks up to find her wiping away tears, the color coming back to her face.

"Hey," she says, finding her voice. "Save the sappy shit for the bedroom, okay?"

Laura laughs and wipes her eye, smearing thin black liner. "I'm sorry," she says, and Natasha wants to ask what the hell she's apologizing for. Laura had been put through more lately than most people would be able to handle. Clint steps forward and hugs her, kissing the top of her head.

“The rain stopped,” Natasha says as she watches them cuddle, nodding towards the window. There’s still water streaking down the panes, but the steady stream of mist has tapered off. “Maybe if Cooper’s done with his homework, we can do some target practice before dinner.”

Laura looks up slowly, and Natasha keeps her eyes on Clint. He nods, but when he speaks, he’s speaking to Laura. His face is almost buried in her dark hair.

“If you want.”

“Yes,” Laura says quietly, stabilizing her voice. “I can get dinner ready. Lila can help.” She walks into the kitchen, and Natasha takes Clint’s hand after she’s left.

“You okay?”

“Maybe,” Clint says, and Natasha thinks it’s the most honest answer she's going to get. She knows she's not going to push him to give a better response. “See if Cooper’s done with his homework. Or if he’s done enough to take a break. I’ll get my bow.”

He disappears to the basement and Natasha climbs the stairs, pushing open the door to Cooper’s room. Lucky is lying on his bed, and his head snaps up when he sees her.

“Hey, how’s your homework?”

Cooper shrugs. “Boring,” he replies, throwing down his pencil in dramatic fashion. “Stupid _school_.”

Natasha arches an eyebrow. “Wanna come with me and take a break?”

Cooper inclines his head and gives Natasha a look that is so Clint, she almost laughs out loud.

“Get your coat, okay Coop?”

Cooper hops up from his desk chair and Lucky follows, bounding off the bed and following him downstairs. By the time Natasha makes it to the landing, he’s already pulled his rain boots back on and put on his blue jacket. Natasha grabs one of Laura's coats and then pulls open the door, breathing in the sharp smell of sweet rain and damp foliage. Lucky takes off happily, and the still-wet grass squirms beneath Natasha’s feet as she walks across the lawn. The sky, not dropping any more water, instead settles for hanging its lint colored clouds low over the trees.

In the time it’s taken for Natasha and Cooper to get out of the house and across the lawn, Clint’s retrieved his bow and found an old target that Natasha remembers seeing shoved in the corner of the basement. It’s a little smaller than the large stand that he usually uses in the barn, but he’s managed to find a hook and nail and is fastening it onto the trunk of one of the big trees by the side of the house.

"I've never seen that one before," Cooper says as he looks at the target. Clint smiles.

"Your mom bought this when we first moved in, right after you were born. She thought I might get bored while I was changing you, but she didn't know how many times you'd end up needing new diapers." He winks as he finishes securing the target and picks up his bow, which is leaning against the tree next to his quiver. 

“It’s bigger than the one we were working on,” Cooper says a little hesitantly as Clint lifts his bow.

“I’ve got a few different ones I use. This one doubles as a bo staff.” He moves it deftly so that it snaps into the staff Natasha remembers him using at the airport. Against her. She fights off a chill; she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be over the shaky memories of fighting when both of them weren’t doing it out of someone else’s volition. Cooper looks fascinated.

“Woah,” he says quietly, wide-eyed kid wonder encased in an almost-teenage stare. “ _Cool_. Do you use your different bows because of different bad people?”

“Yeah,” Clint answers. “Sometimes.” He picks up an arrow and strings it. Cooper backs away, almost tripping over his feet on the wet grass, and Natasha catches him easily.

“Sorry,” he says shyly, straightening up. Natasha takes her eyes off Cooper to look at Clint.

His back is straight and rigid, and his stance seems a little too manufactured. Looking closer through narrowed eyes, Natasha can see how the lines around his mouth are tightening, barely-there creases accentuating his pursed lips. There’s a hardly-detectable shake in his arm as he raises his bow, and he shifts his weight a few more times than he normally would. Natasha wonders if his aids are making him nervous or throwing him off; his equilibrium had improved drastically but she knows between the escalated hearing and the fact that he hasn’t shot since Leipzig, there were things going on in his mind that even he couldn’t shake.

She used to think Clint was invincible. Clint, SHIELD agent and family man who could shoot men in the head but also knew what baby food tasted like and knew how to braid hair and do makeup.

She used to think Laura was invincible. Laura, homegrown educated and small-town girl who somehow managed to keep her innocence, even after enduring near-deaths and fights and kidnappings.

She used to think she was invincible. Natasha, assassin-turned-prisoner-turned-partner-turned-mother who had no problem slicing someone’s neck open but who also had no problem kissing injuries and soothing away nightmares.

She remembers Laura at the lake house, renewing her vows with Clint while promising Natasha new ones, and how she had said they worked together _because_ they were different in those ways. She bites down on a sudden laugh. No one was invincible, least of all the people that had accepted her when she was most vulnerable, who had worked so hard to make her part of their family.

Least of all, her.

Clint lets the first arrow fly and it sails through the air, landing squarely in the yellow ring. Cooper’s looking at his dad in awe, and Natasha knows why. The first time she had seen Clint shoot -- really seen him shoot -- she’s pretty sure she had fallen in love without realizing it. There was no science behind why seeing Clint perform a skill so competently made her proud, or turned her on. He just did

“Shoot another one,” Cooper begs excitedly. Clint seems to relax as he strings another arrow, and Natasha thinks he relaxes even more when he shoots for a third time. Cooper sucks in a breath, his eyes shining.

“Dad, that is _so_ cool. It’s even cooler than it is when I see you do it on TV! Nat, this is what he does all the time? Why can’t you teach me how to do this?”

“Remember what I told you when I showed you my bow for the first time?” Clint asks. Cooper scrunches up his face and nods, and Clint’s face softens.

“I love that you want to be like me,” he says, putting his bow down. “I do, Coop. Believe me, for years, I just wanted to show you what I did. I used to talk to you when you were a baby, and tell you all these things you couldn’t understand.”

“Yeah.” Cooper gives him a small smile. “I remember you coming into my room and stuff. When I was little. You used to talk about work.”

“I wanted you to know _why_ I did what I did. I still do. But I also want you to be a kid. I want to keep you safe.”

“But Wanda’s kinda like a kid,” Cooper points out. “And you let her fight with you, so what’s the difference?”

Clint hesitates. “Wanda...she didn’t have an easy life,” he says, exchanging a glance with Natasha. “And that’s not a life I ever wanted for you. You have a good family and a good foundation and you’re supposed to be a kid, Coop. Not a superhero. I know I can’t keep you safe forever, and I know I make mistakes as a father. But I love you, and sometimes, love means you make mistakes.”

“Like you made a mistake when you went to help Wanda?”

“Yes,” Clint admits.

“Like you made a mistake when you told me I had to be a grown-up?”

“Yes. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know.” Cooper looks at Clint’s bow, and the ground squelches beneath his shoes as he moves. “I just...sometimes, I make mistakes, too. Like when I got mad at school and hurt that kid. And when I yelled at you.”

“We all make mistakes,” Clint says, holding his arm out. Natasha swallows down a lump in her throat as she watches them hug. “Come on. That’s enough for today. Mom’s gonna have dinner ready, and she’ll _really_ kill me if I keep you out here when the wolves come.”

“There aren’t any _wolves_ ,” Cooper scowls but he obeys anyway, hugging his dad again before walking towards the house. Lucky, who has been frolicking around the lawn, runs after him.

Clint glances at the target, as if he means to take it down, then shrugs and folds up his bow. Natasha picks up his quiver and they follow Cooper slowly.

“So what are you going to do with your newfound freedom?” Natasha asks when they get back to the house. She shivers in the cold night air, the chill from the morning rain finally setting in. “Go back to bartending?”

Clint laughs as he leans forward on the porch rail. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe I’ll get Laura to agree to opening up a real farm here. You know, horses, vegetables, the works. I know we’ve got the dog now, but Lila still hasn’t given up on her horse dream. What about you?”

Natasha makes a face. “I might be too domesticated now to do anything else. Maybe I’ll become a free agent again for kicks.” She winks as she nudges him. “Think AIM needs to be revived? I have some lawbreaking skills handy and some old contacts I can pull out.”

“Hey.” Clint nudges her back with his shoulder. “If anyone can pull terrorists and assassins out of hiding, it’s the Black Widow, right?” He looks over and smiles, but Natasha can’t make herself smile back.

“I’m serious. I don’t think there’s anything left for me in avenging. Not after all of this.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Natasha sighs. “Yeah, well. Me neither. I always thought this place would be you and Laura, and I know now it’s me, too. But it’s still hard to imagine myself living here and being a part of this life every single day, when our other life exists.”

“Well, that life might not exist anymore,” Clint mutters.

Natasha smiles grimly. “I know.”

“Hey, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with the simple life. Even if it’s a secret simple life.” He leans over to kiss her and Natasha can’t help the muscles in her cheeks from giving out, her face falling. She knows Clint sees when he pulls away.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Natasha shakes her head. “It’s just...Steve said that once. About you and your farm. This kind of life, it wasn’t for him. He felt like he could never belong somewhere like this. But, I don’t know...I thought the same thing, once.” She swallows. “I never thought I’d stay, even if I wanted to. I didn’t think I’d ever want this life. I guess I just got lucky.”

Clint lets out a long breath. “Maybe you’re right,” he says slowly. “Maybe there is no next project.”

Natasha’s heart hammers a little faster in her chest. “So you’re never going to go back?”

“And see my face all over the news?” Clint shrugs. “I dunno. I guess we’ll have to, right? The world will always need saving. I’ll be there for my friends, because they were there for me, even though we all wanted to kill each other. And Wanda needs me, and I want to be there for her, and I know I always will be. But Laura keeps calling me an old man, and she’s not wrong. I can barely see without my glasses anymore when I’m reading. And now having my hearing gone…”

“That’s not old,” Natasha reminds him. “That was an accident.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. “But I’m not healing as well as I used to. And Lila’s starting to have trouble with me going away, even though I was doing that for so long when she was younger. And I don’t really know how to help it, because I know being in the field will never not be a part of my life.”

“So you just want to be a family?”

Clint looks over and cracks a small smile. “You’re seriously the one calling for us to be more domesticated?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “ _You_ were the one who fell in love with me and then dragged your wife into it,” she reminds him. “I just gave her really good sex and made her stay.”

Clint laughs. “I dunno. Maybe it’s good to be a family for a little bit, while no one is calling me to figure out what’s going on in the world and the biggest thing I have to worry about is if I’m going to eat play-dough instead of cookie dough. Maybe I’ll just stay here and be home for awhile. For real.”

Laura opens the door behind them, the smell of freshly made meatloaf wafting through the air, mingling with the post-rain dampness and cool wind. She steps onto the porch and wraps her arms around Clint’s waist, putting her chin on Natasha’s shoulder. The three of them stare out at a world that seems to stretch so much farther than the farm, the trees disappearing into the distance and the long dirt road fading into invisibility. In the foreground, a dog barks, and in the background, children’s laughter sings.

“Home is good,” Natasha says softly. Clint carefully takes one hearing aid out, and Laura sighs quietly.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so emotional and I don't know what to do with myself, but it would be terrible if I didn't start out by giving my thanks to those who have been there since the beginning and beyond: fidesangelus and intrikate88 who helped me out with so much world building and beta and technical questions, and nathanielbarton who was always a cheerleader and made a bunch of gifsets for this series. Thank you to those who stepped in along the way to beta and offer brainstorming and support and writer's block help and title help: beautyofsorrow, sweetwatersong, inkvoices, gecko, and of course Shelly, my darling bb who listened to me whine a lot and yelled at me when I edited a draft of my chapter directly in AO3. Thank you to my readers, thank you to EVERYONE who read a chapter or left a kudos or a comment or a tumblr message and followed this story -- I cannot even begin to tell you how much I appreciate you. An extra special thank you to the readers who read without fail, who commented on each chapter: I know who you are, I love you, and I feel like you're my own little army. I'm so lucky to have you in my corner and I am so happy you stayed along for the ride.
> 
> I haven't made it a secret that finishing this story makes me sad, because this series and this fic have been a part of my life for the better part of the past 2 years. A lot of people have asked where I plan to go next, and the honest answer is...I don't know. Well before I finished writing TTCRD, I knew that I would be writing another installment, because Civil War was coming right on its heels. With Infinity War not coming out for another year, I feel like, for now, I've come to a somewhat comfortable end in terms of where Clint, Natasha and Laura could be, relationship-wise. And that was my goal as a writer: to bring closure to a story that people had invested in. When Civil War came out, I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted the farm and Laura to be included. I wanted to see more of what we only got 15 minutes of on screen, especially knowing the stakes behind Clint coming back to the fight. But I liked the idea of being able to have a totally clean slate to continue to build my headcanon on. It's part of why this ended up being so damn long, because I felt like I needed to earn the biggest plot points of the story. To do that, I had to show things that the MCU didn't care to show us.
> 
> However!!
> 
> I love this world and this OT3 and this story. I can't ever stop writing these three, and I'm not done yet. I'm not ruling out the idea of writing one-shots or small "slices of life" stories that fit into this world, or small asides with Wanda or maybe Scott. And I have a feeling I'll have a LOT to write about after the first Infinity War movie. So basically, even though this fic is over, it doesn't mean this series is over. Not by a long shot. I hope you do stick around and stay invested, even if it's not a monthly update.
> 
> Contrary to popular belief, the hard part of writing a fic like this isn't the plotting. It's the agony that comes with obsessing over how well you've brought people into this world, because it's entirely impossible to write every single moment of domestic life, from first words to first teeth to first steps to graduations to milestones to favorite foods to dinners. And how do you write all of that without dragging the story too much, and without boring the reader? It's a constant balancing act, and I can only hope that despite what my own brain tells me, I've drawn you in enough that you care about this OT3, that you can ignore what canon tells you, and that you can believe this little family does exist to love each other, even with all their faults.
> 
> (Find me on tumblr @isjustprogress for more OT3 stuff, drabbles, etc, as that's where I post a lot of my fannish content. <3)


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